THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


jliMm  COLLECnoi 


POPULAR  NOVELS. 

By  3Irs.  Mary  J.  Holmes. 

T. — IXNA  RIVEES. 
n. — TEMPEST  AKD  SUNSHINE, 
m. — MEAIX)W  BEOOK, 
IV. — ENGLISH   ORPHANS. 

V. — HUGH  WOBTHINGTON. 
TI. — DARKNESS  AND  DATUOHT. 
"VH. — MAEL\N   GREY. 
VUL — DORA  DEANE. 
IX. — COUSIN  MA.UDE. 
X. — HOMESTEAD  ON  THE  HILLSIDE. 
XL — THE   CAMERON  PRIDE. 

xn. — ROSE  MATHER.  (Just  PuNisJied.) 


Mrs.  Holmes  is  a  pecTiliarly  pleasant  and  fascinating 
writer.     Her  books  are  always  entertaining,  and 
she  has  the  rare  faculty  of  cnUstiug  tho 
sympathy  and  aflfectio'us  of  her  read- 
ers, and  of   holding  their  at- 
tention to  her  pages  w-ith 
deep   and   absorb- 
ing   inter- 


All  published  nniform  with  this  volume,  at  $1.50,  and  e 
J^-ee  by  mail,  on  receipt  of  price  by 

G.  AV.  CARLETON    «fc    CO.,  Publisliers, 

IS^e^v  York. 


ROSE    MATHER: 


i>  8al(. 


BY 

Mrs.   MAEY   J.   HOLMES, 

AUTHOR  OF    "TEMPEST  AND  SUNSHINE,"    "'LENA  EIVEBS,"    "THE  CAMEEON 
PKIDE,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


NEW    YOKK  : 

G.  W.Carleton  &-  Co.,  Publishers, 


LONDON  :    S.    LOW,    SON   &   CO. 
MDCCCLXVUL 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congresg,  in  the  year  1868,  bT 

DANIEL    HOLMES, 

In  the  aerk'a  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  for  the 
Northern  District  of  New  York. 


THE    SOLDIERS   LIVING, 

THIS  STOET   OP  THE  WAB 

IS  GKATKrniXT  INSCBIBED  BY 

THE  AUTHOR. 

Bbown  Cottage,  Brockport,  N.  Y. 
April,  1868. 


602958 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  ^^^^ 

L — The  Wae  Meeting 9 

n.— KosE  A^^D  Axjnij 20 

TTT. — The  Depaktube 35 

rV.— "Will  and  Beothee  Tom 50 

v.— JiMMIE ^"^ 

VL— Finding  Something  to  do  fob  the  Wae 81 

Vn.— The  Battle 87 

Vm.— The  Eeteeat ^^ 

IX.— The  Kebel  and  the  Yankee •  HI 

X. — News  of  the  Battee  at  Eockland 121 

XI. — The  Wounded  Soldiee 134 

Xn.— Getting  Keady 1^ 

Xin.— The  Dying  Soldiee 150 

XTV. — Mattebs  in  Eockland 158 

XV. — The  Desebteb 165 

XVI. — ^News  Direct  eeom  Jimmie 179 

XVII. — The  Confedeeate  Soldieb's   welcome  to  Eock- 
land    1°1 

XVHL— The  Eichmond   Captives 208 

XIX- —Tom's  Eeception 224 

XX. — At  the  IkiATHEB  Mansion 248 

XXI. — "Not  long  fob  this  Woeld." 259 

XXn.— The  Wounded  Soldiee 269 

XXin.— Tom  and  Jimmie 283 

XXIV.— The  Eesults  of  the  Battle 289 


viii  CONTENTS. 

CHAP.  PACK 

XXV.— Getttsbubgh 292 

XXVL— CouBSE  or  Events 296 

XXVn.— The  Hunted  Soldeeb 304 

XXVin.— The  Dead  Alive 318 

XXIX. — The  Heroine  of  the  Mountain 322 

XXX. — Aethub  and   Maude 337 

XXXL— Maude  and  Tom 343 

XXXIL— Suspicion 353 

XXXILL— In  the  Cave 359 

XXXIV.— PooB  Abthub 368 

XXXV.— The  Dead  and  the  Livinq 373 

XXXVI. — Andebsonville  Pbisonees 377 

XXXVIL— In  Rockland 385 

XXXVnL— The  Lovebs 1 392 

XXXIX.— Chaeue 397 


ROSE  MATHER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE     WAR    MEETING. 

^  M  long  disputed  point  as  to  whether  the  South 

^i^^^  was  in  earnest  or  not  was  settled,  and  through 
v5^^  t^e  Northern  States  the  tidings  flew  that  Sumter 
had  fallen  and  the  war  had  commenced.  With  the  first 
gun  which  boomed  across  the  waters  of  Charleston  bay, 
it  was  ushered  id,  and  they  who  had  cried,  "Peace! 
peace !"  found  at  last  "  there  was  no  peace."  Then,  and 
not  till  then,  did  the  nation  rise  from  its  lethargic  slum- 
ber and  shake  off  the  delusion  with  which  it  had  so  long 
been  bound.  PoHtical  differences  were  forgotten.  Re- 
publicans and  Democrats  struck  the  friendly  hand,  pulse 
beat  to  pulse,  heart  throbbed  to  heart,  and  the  watch- 
word everywhere  was,  "  The  Union  forever."  Through- 
out the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land  were  true,  loyal 
hearts,  and  as  at  Rhoderic  Dhu's  command  the  High- 
landers sprang  to  view  from  every  clump  of  heather  on 
the  wild  moors  of  Scotland,  so  when  the  war-cry  came 
up  from  Sumter  our  own  Highlanders  arose,  a  mighty 
host,  responsive  to  the  call;  some  from  New  England's 
templed  hills,  with  hands  inured  to  toil,  and  hearts  aa 


10  EOSE  MATHER. 

strong  and  true  as  flint;  some  from  the  Empire,  some 
the  Keystone  State,  and  others  from  the  prairies  of 
the  distant  West.  It  mattered  not  what  place  had  given 
them  birth ;  it  mattered  little  whether  the  Green  Moun- 
tains of  Vermont,  the  gTanite  hiUs  of  New  Hampshire,  or 
the  shadowj  forests  of  Wisconsin  had  sheltered  their 
childhood's  home;  united  in  one  cause  they  rallied  round 
the  Stars  and  Stripes,  and  went  forth  to  meet,  not  a 
foreign  foe,  out  alas,  to  raise  a  brother's  arm  against 
another  brother's  arm  in  that  most  dreadful  of  all  anar- 
chies, a  national  civil  war. 

In  the  usually  quiet  village  of  Eocldand  the  utmost  in- 
terest was  felt,  and  though  there,  as  elsewhere,  were 
many  whose  hearts  beat  as  warmly  for  theii'  Southern 
fi'iends  as  when  the  sun  shone  on  a  nation  at  peace,  all 
felt  the  necessity  of  action,  and  when  at  last  the  even- 
ing came  in  which  the  fii'st  war  meeting  of  that  place 
was  to  be  held,  a  dense  and  promiscuous  crowd  wended 
its  way  to  the  old  brick  church,  whose  hallowed  walls 
echoed  to  the  sound  of  fife  and  drum,  strange  music  for 
the  house  of  God,  but  more  acceptable,  in  that  dark 
hour,  than  songs  of  praise  sung  by  vain  and  thoughtless 
hps.  In  the  centre  of  the  church,  the  men  were  mostly 
congregated,  while  the  seats  nearest  the  door  w^ere  oc- 
cupied by  the  women, — the  wives  and  mothers  and  sisters 
who  had  come  with  aching  hearts  to  see  their  brothers, 
sons  and  husbands  give  their  signatures  to  what  seemed 
their  sure  death  warrant.  Conspicuous  among  these  was 
Widow  Simms,  whose  old-fashioned  leghorn,  with  its 
faded  green  veil,  w^as  \dsible  at  all  public  gatherings, 
its  broad  fiill  of  lace  shading  a  pair  of  sharp  grey  eyes, 
and  a  rather  peculiar  face.  It  was  very  white  now,  and 
the  thin  lips  were  fimily  compressed  as  the  widow  tried 
to  look  resolute  and  unconcerned  when  two  of  her  sons 


THE  WAR  MEETING.  11 

went  forward,  their  faces  glowing  with  youthful  enthu- 
siasm, as  they  heard  the  President  repeat  their  names, 
"  John  Simms,— EH  Simms."  The  widow  involuntarily 
said  it  after  him,  her  mother's  heart  whispering  within 
her,  "Isaac  won't  go.  He's  too  young.  I  can't  give 
Isaac  up,"  and  her  eye  wandered  to  where  her  youngest 
boy  was  sitting,  twirhng  his  old  cloth  cap,  and  occa- 
sionally exchanging  a  word  with  the  young  man  next  to 
him,  William  Baker,  who,  together  with  his  brother, 
arose,  to  follow  John  and  EH  Simms. 

Scarcely,  however,  had  they  risen  to  their  feet,  when 
a  woman  occupying  the  same  seat  with  Widow  Simms, 
uttered  a  cry  more  like  the  moaning  howl  of  some  wild 
beast,  than  like  a  human  sound. 

"No,  Harry,  no.  Bill — no,  no,"  and  the  bony  arms 
were  flung  wildly  toward  the  two  young  men,  who,  with 
a  dogged,  indignant  glance  at  her,  fell  back  among  the 
crowd  where  they  could  not  be  seen,  muttering  some- 
thing not  very  compHmentary  to  "  the  old  woman,"  as 
they  called  her. 

But  the  old  woman  did  not  hear  it,  and  if  she  had,  it 
would  have  made  no  difference.  It  mattered  not  to  her 
that  they  had  ever  been  the  veriest  pests  in  the  whole 
viUage,  the  planners  of  every  grade  of  mischief,  the  rob- 
bers of  barns  and  plunderers  of  orchards, — they  were  her 
boys,  and  she  didn't  want  them  shot,  so  she  continued 
to  moan  and  cry,  muttering  incoherently  about  the  rich 
treading  down  the  poor,  and  wondering  why  Judge  War- 
ner didn't  send  his  own  white  fingered  sons,  if  he  thought 
going  to  war  was  so  nice. 

"  I  wouldn't  make  such  a  fuss,  let  what  would  happen 
to  me,"  said  the  Widow  Simms,  casting  a  half  contemp- 
tuous glance  upon  the  weeping  woman,  whom  she  evi- 
dently considered  far  beneath  her,  and  adding,  "  They  had 


12  BOSE  MATHEB. 

'nongh-sight  better  be  shot  than  hung, '  as  an  aside  to  the 
young  woman  just  behind  her, — sweet  Annie  Graham, 
who  was  holding  fast  to  her  husband's  hand,  as  if  she 
would  thus  keep  him  in  spite  of  the  speaker's  eloquent 
appeals,  and  the  whispers  of  his  companions,  who  were 
urging  him  to  join  the  company  forming  so  rapidly  be- 
fore the  altar. 

There  was  a  terrible  struggle  going  on  in  Annie  Gra- 
ham's breast, — duty  to  her  country  and  love  for  her  hus- 
band waging  a  mighty  conflict,  the  former  telling  her 
that  if  the  right  would  triumph,  somebody's  husband 
must  go,  and  the  wife-heart  crying  out,  "Yes,  somebody's 
husband  must  go,  I  know,  but- not  mine,  not  George." 

Very  tenderly  George  Graham's  strong  arm  encircled 
the  girlish  form,  and  when  he  saw  how  fast  the  tears 
came  to  the  great  dreamy  eyes  of  blue,  and  thought  how 
frail  was  the  wife  of  little  more  than  a  year,  he  bent 
down  until  his  chin  rested  on  her  pale  brown  hair,  and 
whispered  softly  to  her, 

"  Don't,  Annie,  darling,  you  know  I  will  never  go  un- 
less you  think  I  ought,  and  give  your  free  consent." 

Had  George  Graham  wished,  he  could  not  have  chosen 
a  more  powerful  argument  than  the  words,  "  Unless  you 
think  I  ought." 

Annie  repeated  them  to  herself  again  and  again,  until 
consciousness  of  all  else  around  her  was  forgotten  in  that 
one  question  of  duty.  She  heard  no  longer  the  second 
speaker,  whose  burning  eloquence  was  stiiTing  up  hitherto 
reluctant  young  men  to  place  their  names  beside  others 
already  pledged  to  their  coimti-y's  cause.  Leaning  for- 
ward so  that  her  forehead  rested  on  the  railing  in  front, 
she  tried  to  pray,  but  flesh  and  strength  were  weak,  and 
the  prayer  ended  always  with  the  unuttered  cry,  "  I  can- 
not let  George  go,"  while  the  fingers  twined  more  and 


THE  WAR  MEETING.  13 

more  closely  around  the  broad,  warm  hand,  which  sought 
awhile  to  reassure  her,  and  then  was  withdrawn  from  her 
gi*asp  as  George  arose  and  politely  offered  his  seat  to  a 
lady  who  had  just  arrived,  and  who,  after  glancing  an 
instant  at  his  coat,  accepted  his  civihty  as  a  matter  of 
course,  but  withheld  the  thanks  she  would  have  accorded 
to  one  whom  she  considered  her  equal. 

Spreading  out  her  wide  skirt  of  rich  blue  silk  so  that 
it  nearly  covered  poor  Annie,  she  threw  her  crimson 
scarf  across  the  railing  in  front,  hitting  "Widow  Simms, 
and  so  diverting  the  attention  of  !Mrs.  Baker,  that  the 
latter  ceased  her  crying,  while  the  widow  turned  with  an 
expression  half  curious,  half  indignant.  Annie,  too, 
attracted  by  the  heavy  fringe  and  softly-blended  colors 
of  the  scarf,  a  part  of  which  had  fallen  upon  her  lap,  as 
the  widow  shook  it  from  her  shoulder  with  a  jerk,  stole  a 
glance  at  the  new  comer,  in  whom  she  recognized  the 
bride,  the  beauty,  the  envied  belle  of  Rockland,  Rose 
Mather,  fi-om  Boston, — and  wife  of  the  wealthy  and  aris- 
tocratic WiUiam  Mather,  who  three  months  before  had 
ended  the  strife  between  the  Rockland  ladies  as  to  what 
fair  hand  should  spend  his  gold,  and  drive  his  iron  greys, 
by  bringing  to  his  elegant  mansion  a  fairy  little  creatui'e 
with  whose  exquisite  beauty  even  the  most  fastidious 
could  not  find  fault.  Childish  in  propoi4;ions,  and  per- 
fect in  form  and  feature,  she  would  have  beei.  handsome 
without  the  aid  of  the  dancing  brown  eyes,  and  chestnut 
curls  which  shaded  her  girhsh  brow.  Rose  knew  she 
was  pretty, — knew  she  was  stylish, — ^knew  she  was  fascin- 
ating,— knew  she  was  just  then  the  rage,  and  as  such 
could  do  and  say  what  she  pleased.  Sweeping  back 
her  chestnut  hair  with  her  snowy  hand,  she  gave  one 
rapid  glance  at  the  sea  of  heads  around  her,  and  then,  in 
a  half  petulant  tone,  exclaimed  to  her  companion! 


14  _  EOSE  MATHER. 

"  I  don't  believe  "Will  is  here.  I  can't  see  him  any- 
where." 

"  Didn't  you  know  he  had  enhsted  ?"  asked  a  young 
man,  who  had  made  his  way  through  the  crowd,  and 
joined  her. 

For  an  instant  the  bright  color  faded  from  Rose 
Mather's  cheek,  but  it  quickly  returned  as  she  read  in 
Mr.  Wentworth's  eye,  a  contradiction  of  his  words. 

"  Will  enhsted !"  she  repeated.  "  Such  people  as  Will 
don't  go  to  the  war.  It's  a  very  different  class,  such,  for 
instance,  as  that  one  going  up  to  sign.  Upon  my  word, 
it's  the  boy  who  saws  our  wood !"  and  she  pointed  at 
the  youth,  offering  himself  up  that  just  such  people  as 
Rose  Mather,  radiant  in  silks  and  diamonds,  and  lace, 
might  rest  in  peace  at  home,  knowing  nothing  of  war, 
and  its  attendant  horrors,  save  what  came  to  her  through 
the  daily  prints. 

Widow  Simms  heard  the  remark,  and  with  a  swelling 
heart  turned  toward  the  boy  who  sawed  Rose  Mather's 
wood,  for  she  knew  who  it  was,  and  it  did  not  need  the 
loud  whisper  of  Mrs.  Baker  to  tell  her  that  it  was  her  boy, 
the  yoimgest  of  the  three,  the  one  she  loved  the  best,  the 
baby,  who  kei)t  the  milk  of  human  kindness  from  turning 
quite  sour  within  her  breast  by  his  many  acts  of  filial  love, 
and  his  gentle,  caressing  ways.  How  could  she  give  him 
up,  her  darhng,  her  idol,  the  one  so  Hke  his  father,  dead 
ere  he  was  bom  ?  Who  would  comfort  her  as  he  had 
done  ?  A^Tio  would  give  her  the  good-night  kiss,  timidly, 
stealthily,  lest  the  older  ones  should  see  and  laugh  at  his 
girhsh  weakness  ?  Who  would  bring  his  weekly  earnings, 
and  empty  them  shly  into  her  lap  ?  Who  would  find  her 
place  in  the  prayer-book  on  Sunday,  and  pound  her 
clothes  on  Monday,  long  before  it  was  hght?  Who 
would  spht  the  nice  fine  kindlings  for  the  morning  fire, 


THE  WAR  MEETING. 


15 


or  bring  the  cool  fresh  water  in  the  summer  from  the 
farther  weU,  and  who,  when  her  head  was  aching  sadly, 
would  make  the  cup  of  tea  she  liked  so  much  ?  Homely 
offices,  many  of  them,  it  is  true,  but  they  made  up  the 
sum  of  that  mother's  happiness,  and  it  is  not  strange 
that,  for  a  moment,  the  iron  will  gave  way,  and  the  poor 
widow  wept  over  her  cruel  bereavement,  not  noisily,  as 
Mrs.  Baker  had  done,  but  silently,  bitterly,  her  body 
trembhng  nervously,  and  her  whole  attitude  mdicative  of 
keen,  unaffected  anguish. 

Bose  did  not  know  the  relationship  existing  between 
the  widow   and  the  boy  who  sawed  her  wood,  but  her 
better  nature  was  touched  always  at  the  sight  of  distress, 
and  for  several  minutes,  she  did  not  speak  except  to  tell 
Mr.  Wentworth  how  much  Brother  Tom  had  paid  for  the 
crimson  scarf,  one  end  of  which  he  was  twirling  around 
his  wrist.     To  Annie  it  seemed  an  enormous  sum,  and  a 
Uttle  over-awed  with  her  close  proximity  to   one  who 
could  sport  so  expensive  an  article  of  di^ess,  she  involun- 
tarily tried  to  move  away,  and  avoid,  if  possible,  being 
noticed  by  the  brilHant  belle.     She  might  have  spared 
herself  the  trouble,  for  Bose  was  too  much  absorbed  with 
the   group  of  admirers  gathering  around  her  to   heed 
the  shrinking  figure  at  her   side,  and,  after  a  time,  as 
Widow  Simms  recovered  her   composure,  she  resumed 
her   gay  badinage,  bringing   in   Will  with   every  other 
breath,  and  showing  how  completely  her  heart  was  bound 
up  in  her  husband,  notwithstanding  the  evident  satisfac- 
tion with  which  she  received  the  flattering  comphments 
of  the  gentlemen  who,  since  her  arrival  at  Bockland,  had 
made  it  a  point  to  admire  and  flii^t  with  the  httle  Boston 
belle,  laughing  loudly  at  speeches  which,  fi'om  one  less 
piquant   and   attractive,   would  have   been   pronounced 
decidedly  silly  and  meaningless. 


16  ROSE  MATHER. 

Rose  was  not  well  posted  with  regard  to  the  object  of 
that  meeting.  She  knew  that  Sumter  or  Charleston  had 
been  fired  upon,  she  hardly  could  tell  which,  for  she  was 
far  too  sleepy  when  Will  read  the  news  to  comprehend 
clearly  what  it  was  all  about,  and  she  had  skipped  every 
word  which  Brother  Tom  had  written  about  it  in  his  last 
letter,  the  one  in  which  he  enclosed  five  hundred  dollars 
for  the  silver  tea-set  she  saw  in  Rochester,  and  wanted 
so  badly.  Rose  was  an  accomplished  musician,  a  tolera- 
ble proficient  in  both  French  and  German,  and  had 
skimmed  neai'ly  all  the  higher  branches,  but  like  many 
fashionably  educated  young  ladies,  her  knowledge  of 
geography  comprised  a  confused  medley  of  cities,  towns 
and  villages,  scattered  promiscuously  over  the  face  of  the 
earth,  but  which  was  where  she  could  not  pretend  to  tell ; 
and  were  it  not  that  Brother  Tom  had  spent  three  win- 
ters in  Charleston,  leaving  at  last  his  fair-haired  wife 
sleeping  there  beneath  the  Southern  sky,  she  wo'uld 
scarcely  have  known  whether  the  waters  of  the  Atlantic 
or  of  Bafiin's  Bay,  washed  the  shore  of  the  Palmetto 
State.  And  still  Rose  was  not  a  fool  in  the  ordinary  ac- 
ceptation of  the  term.  She  knew  as  much  or  more  than 
half  the  petted  belles  of  modern  society,  and  could  say 
smart  foolish  things  with  so  pretty  an  air  of  childish- 
ness, that  even  those  of  her  own  sex  who  were  at  first 
most  prejudiced  against  her,  confessed  that  she  was  cer- 
tainly very  captivating,  and  possessed  the  art  of  making 
everybody  like  her,  even  if  she  hadn't  common  sense  ! 

On  tliis  occasion  she  chatted  on  in  her  usual  style, 
provoking  from  George  Graham  more  than  one  good- 
humored  smiie  at  remarks  which  evinced  so  much  igno- 
rance of  the  matter  then  agitating  the  entire  community. 

"WiU  wouldn't  go  to  the  war,  of  course,"  she  said; 
*'  supposing  there  were  one,  which  she  greatly  doubted. 


THE  WAE  MEETING.  17 

Northern  men,  particularly  those  of  Kockland,  were  so 
hateful  toward  the  South.  She  didn't  beheve  Boston 
people  were  that  way  at  all.  At  least,  Brother  Tom 
was  not,  and  he  knew;  he  had  lived  in  Charleston, 
and  described  them  as  very  nice  folks.  Indeed,  she 
knew  they  were,  herself,  for  she  always  met  them  at 
Newport,  and  liked  them  so  much.  She  didn't  credit  one 
word  of  what  the  papers  said.  She  presumed  Mr.  An- 
derson provoked  them.     Tom  knew  him  personally." 

"  You  have  another  brother  besides  Tom — won't  he 
join  the  army  ?"  asked  Mr.  Wentworth,  a  smile  curling 
the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

Eose  sighed  involuntarily,  for  on  the  subject  of  that 
other  brother  she  was  a  httle  sore,  and  the  mention  of  him 
always  gave  her  pain.  He  was  not  like  Brother  Tom,  the 
eldest,  the  pride  of  the  Carleton  family.  He  was  Jimmies 
handsome,  roUicking,  mischievous  Jimmie,  to  those  who 
loved  him  best,  while  to  the  Boston,  people,  who  knew 
him  best,  he  was  "  that  young  scapegTace,  Jim  Carleton, 
destined  for  the  gallows,  or  some  other  ignominious 
end,"  a  prediction  which  seemed  likely  to  be  verified  at 
the  time  when  he  nearly  broke  a  comrade's  head  for  call- 
ing him  a  Har,  and  so  was  expelled  from  college,  covered 
with  disgrace.  Something  of  this  was  known  to  Mr. 
Wentworth,  and  he  asked  the  question  he  did,  just  to  see 
what  Rose  would  say.  But  if  he  thought  she  would  at- 
tempt to  conceal  anything  pertaining  to  herself,  or  any 
one  else,  for  that  matter,  he  was  mistaken.  Bose  was 
too  truthful  for  anything  Uke  duplicity,  and  she  frankly 
answered: 

"We  don't  know  where  Jimmie  is.  They  turned  him 
out  of  college,  and  then  he  ran  away.  It's  more  than  a 
year  since  we  heard  from  him.  He  was  in-  Southern 
Virginia,  then.     Mother  thinks  he's  dead,  or  he  would 


18  HOSE  MATHER. 

sure  J  write  to  some  of  us,"  and  a  tear  glittered  in  Rose*a 
eyes,  as  she  thought  of  recreant  Jimmie,  sleeping  else- 
where than  in  the  family  vault  at  beautiful  Mt.  Auburn. 
Kose  could  not,  however,  be  unhappy  long  over  what  was 
a  mere  speculation,  and  after  a  few  moments  she  resumed 
the  subject  of  her  husband's  volunteering. 

"  She  knew  he  wouldn't,  even  if  he  did  vote  for  Lin- 
coln. She  was  not  one  bit  concerned,  for  no  man  who 
loved  his  wife  as  he  ought,  would  want  to  go  and  leave 
her,'*  and  the  Httle  lady  stroked  her  luxuriant  curls 
coquettishly,  spreading  out  still  wider  her  silken  robe, 
which  now  completely  covered  the  plain  shilling  calico  of 
poor  Annie,  whose  heart  for  a  moment  beat  almost  to 
bursting  as  she  asked  herself  if  it  were  true,  that  no  man 
who  loved  his  wife  as  he  ought,  would  want  to  go  and 
leave  her.  In  a  moment,  however,  she  repelled  the  as- 
sertion as  false,  for  George  had  given  too  many  proofs 
of  his  devotion  for  her  to  doubt  him  now,  even  though 
he  had  expressed  a  desire  to  join  the  army.  Then  she 
wished  she  was  at  home,  where  she  could  not  hear  what 
Rose  Mather  said,  and  she  was  about  proposing  to 
George  that  they  should  leave,  when  Mr.  Mather  himself 
appeared,  and  she  concluded  to  remain.  He  was  a 
haughty-looking  man,  very  fond  of  his  little  wife,  on 
whose  shoulder  he  laid  his  hand  caressingly,  as  he 
asked  "what  she  thought  of  war  now?" 

*'  I  just  think  it  is  horrid !"  and  Rose's  fat  hand  stole 
up  to  meet  her  husband's;  "Mr.  Wentworth  tried  to 
make  me  think  you  had  volunteered,  but  I  knew  better. 
The  idea  of  your  going  off  with  such  frights !  ^liy.  Will, 
you  can't  begin  to  guess  what  a  queer-looking  set  they 
are.  There  was  our  milkman,  and  the  boy  who  sawa 
our  wood,  and  canal-drivers,  and  peddlers,  and  me- 
chanics, and  " 


THE  WAR  MEETING.  19 

Kose  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  for  something  in  her 
husband's  expression  stopped  her.  He  had  caught  the 
quick  uplifting  of  Annie  Graham's  head, — had  noted  the 
indignant  flashing  of  her  blue  eye,  the  kindhng  spot  on 
her  cheek,  and  glancing  at  George,  he  saw  at  once  how 
Eose's  thoughtless  words  must  have  wpunded  her.  He 
had  seen  the  disgusted  expression  of  Widow  Simms,  as 
she  flounced  out  into  the  aisle,  and  knowing  that  the 
"  boy  who  sawed  his  wood,"  was  her  son,  he  felt  sorry 
that  his  wife  should  have  been  so  indiscreet.  StiU,  he 
could  not  be  angry  at  the  sparkling  little  creature  chat- 
ting so  like  a  parrot,  but  he  felt  impelled  to  say: 

"  You  should  not  judge  people  by  their  dress  or  occu- 
pation. The  boy  who  saws  our  wood  has  a  heart  larger 
than  many  who  make  far  more  pretensions.'* 

Rose  tried  to  pout  at  what  she  knew  to  have  been  in- 
tended as  a  reprimand,  but  in  the  excitement  of  the  jam 
as  they  passed  out  of  the  church,  she  forgot  it  entirely, 
only  once  uttering  an  impatient  ejaculation  as  some  one 
inadvertently  stepped  upon  her  sweeping  skirt,  and  so 
held  her  for  a  moment,  producing  the  sensation  which 
nearly  every  woman  experiences  when  she  feels  a  sudden 
backward  pull,  as  if  skirt  and  waist  were  parting  company. 
,  With  the  hasty  exclamation,  "Who  is  stepping  on  me, 
I'd  like  to  know  ?"  she  turned  just  in  time  to  hear  Annie 
Graham's  politely-spoken  words  of  apology: 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  madam  ;  they  push  me  so  behind 
that  I  could  not  help  it." 

"  It  isn't  the  least  bit  of  matter,"  returned  Rose,  dis- 
armed at  once  of  all  resentment,  by  Annie's  lady-like 
manner,  and  the  expression  of  the  face,  on  which  traces 
of  tears  were  still  lingering. 

"  Who  is  that,  Will  ?"  she  whispered,  as  they  emerged 
into  the  moonhght,  and  George  Graham's  tall  form  was 
plainly  discernible,  together  with  that  of  his  wife. 


20  KOSE   MATHER, 

Will  told  lier  wlio  it  was,  and  Kose  rejoined  : 
*'  He  has  volunteered,  I  'most  know.     Poor,  isn't  he  ?" 
"Not  very  rich,  most  certainly,"  was   Mr.   Mather's 
reply. 

"Then  I  guess  he's  going  to  the  war,"  was  Rose's 
mental  comment,  as  if  poverty  were  the  sole  accomplish- 
ment necessary  for  a  soldier  to  possess,  a  conclusion  to 
which  older  and  wiser  heads  than  hers  seemed  at  one 
time  to  have  arrived. 

Annie  Graham  heard  both  question  and  answer,  and 
with  emotions  not  particularly  pleasant  she  whispered 
to  herself  : 

"  Eose  Mather  shall  see  that  one  man  at  least  will  not 
go,  even  if  he  is  a  mechanic  and  poor!"  and  clinging 
closer  to  George's  arm,  she  walked  on  in  silence,  think- 
ing bitter  thoughts  of  the  little  lady,  who,  delighted  with 
having  Will  on  one  side  o-f  her,  and  ]\Ir.  Wentworth,  his 
partner,  on  the  other,  tripped  gaily  on,  laughing  as 
lightly  as  if  on  the  countiy's  horizon  there  were  no  dark, 
threatening  cloud,  which  might  yet  overshadow  her  in 
its  gloomy  folds,  and  leave  her  heart  as  desolate  as  that 
of  the  Widow  Simms,  or  the  wailing  mother  of  Harry 
and  Bill 


CHAPTER  n. 

BOSE     AND     ANNIE 


^  iOSE    MATHER'S  home  was  a  beautiful  place, 
containing  everything  which  love  could  devise, 
or  money  purchase,  and  Rose  was  very  happy 
there,  dancing  like   a  sunbeam   through  the  handsome 


ROSE  AND  AKNIE.  21 

rooms  of  whicli  she  was  the  mistress,  and  singing  as 
gaily  as  her  pet  canary  in  its  gilded  cage  by  the  door. 
No  shadow  of  sorrow  or  care  had  ever  crossed  her  path- 
way, and  the  eighteen  summers  of  her  short  life  had 
come  and  gone  like  so  many  pleasant  memories,  bringing 
with  them  one  successive  round  of  joys,  leaving  no  bhght 
behind,  and  bearing  with  them,  alas,  no  thanks  for  the 
good  bestowed,  for  Rose  was  far  too  thoughtless  to  think 
that  the  Providence  which  shielded  her  so  tenderly, 
might  have  dealt  more  harshly  with  her.  But  the  shadow 
was  creeping  on  apace,  and  Eose  was  conscious  that  the 
war-meeting  had  awakened  within  her  a  new  and  uncom- 
fortable train  of  thought.  Like  many  others,  she  had  a 
habit  of  beheving  that  nothing  very  bad  could  happen  to 
her,  and  so,  let  what  might  occur,  she  was  sui-e  her  hus- 
band would  be  spared.  Still,  in  spite  of  her  gaiety,  an 
undefined  something  haunted  her  all  the  way  from  the 
church,  and  even  when  alone  with  her  husband  in  her 
tasteful  sitting-room,  with  the  bright  gas-hght  falling 
cheerily  around  her,  and  adding  a  fresh  lustre  to  the 
elegant  furniture,  she  could  not  shake  it  off,  nor  g-uess 
what  it  was  that  ailed  her.  At  last,  however,  it  came  to 
her,  suggested  by  thje  sight  of  her  husband's  evening 
paper,  and  laying  her  curly  head  upon  his  knee,  she  gave 
vent  to  her  restlessness  in  the  expression : 

"I  wish  there  wouldn't  be  any  war.  "What  is  it  all 
for?    TeU  me,  please.'* 

It  was  the  first  interest  sh^  had  evinced  in  the  matter, 
and  glad  to  talk  with  any  one  upon  the  subject  which 
was  beginning  to  occupy  so  much  of  his  own  thoughts, 
Mr.  Mather  drew  her  into  his  lap,  and  endeavored,  as  far 
as  possible,  to  explain  to  her  what  it  all  was  for.  Much  of 
what  he  said,  however,  was  Greek  to  Eose,  who  only 
gained  a  vague  idea  that  the  North  was  contending  for  a 


22  ROSE  MATHER. 

bit  of  cloth,  such  as  she  had  often  seen  floating  over  the 
dome  of  the  old  State  House  in  Boston,  and  with  the  re- 
mark, that  men's  lives  were  far  more  valuable  than  aU 
the  Stars  and  Stripes  in  the  world,  she  fell  away  to  sleep, 
leaving  her  husband  in  the  midst  of  an  argument  not 
quite  clear  to  himself,  for,  hke  his  wife,  he  could  not  then 
see  exactly  what  the  war  was  for.  Still,  inasmuch  as  there 
was  war,  he  would  not  play  the  coward's  part,  nor  shrink 
from  the  post  of  duty  if  his  country  should  need  his  ser- 
vices. But  this  Kose  did  not  know,  and  secure  in  the 
behef  that  whatever  might  happen.  Will  would  never  go, 
she  soon  resumed  her  wonted  cheerfulness,  and  if  she 
said  anything  of  the  war,  was  sure  to  startle  her  hearers 
with  some  remark  quite  unworthy  of  a  New  England 
daughter.  She  did  wish  they  would  stop  having  so 
many  meetings,  she  said,  or  if  they  must  have  them,  she 
wished  they'd  get  Brother  Tom  to  come  and  set  them 
right.  He  had  lived  in  Charleston.  He  could  tell  them 
how  kind  the  people  were  to  Mary,  his  sick  wife,  and 
were  it  not  that  'twas  beneath  him  to  lecture,  she'd  sure- 
ly write  for  him  to  come.  Hose  Mather  was  gi-owing 
unpopular  by  her  fooHsh  speeches,  and  when  at  last  she 
was  asked  to  join  with  other  ladies  of  the  town  in  mak- 
ing articles  of  clothing  for  the  volunteers,  she  added  the 
last  drop  to  the  brimming  bucket,  by  tossing  back  her 
chestnut  tresses,  and  "  guessing  she  shouldn't  blister  her 
hands  over  that  coarse  stuff.  She  couldn't  sew  much 
any  way,  and  as  for  making  bandages  and  Hnt,  the  very 
idea  was  sickening.  She'd  give  them  fifty  cents  if  they 
wanted,  but  she  positively  couldn't  do  more  than  that, 
for  she  must  have  a  new  pair  of  lavender  kids.  She  had 
worn  the  old  ones  three  or  four  times,  and  Will  preached 
economy  every  day." 

With  a  frown  of  impatience,  the  matron  who  had  been 


ROSE  AND  AKNIE.  23 

deputed  to  ask  help  from  Kose,  took  the  fifty  cents,  and 
with  feehngs  anything  but  complimentary  to  the  silly 
little  lady,  went  back  to  the  hall  where  scores  of  women 
were  busily  em^Dloyed  in  behalf  of  the  company,  some  of 
whom  would  never  return  to  tell  how  much  good  even 
the  homely  housewife,  with  its  pins  and  needles,  and 
thread,  had  done  them  when  far  away  where  no  mother 
or  sister  hand  could  reach  them,  nor  yet  how  the  thought 
that  perhaps  a  dear  one's  fingers  had  torn  the  soft  linen 
band,  or  scraped  the  tender  lint  applied  to  some  gaping 
wouu,  had  helped  to  ease  the  pain,  and  cheer  the  home- 
sick heart.  It  was  surely  a  work  of  mercy  in  which  our 
noble  women  were  then  engaged,  and  if  from  the  group 
collected  in  Keckland  Hall,  there  was  much  loud  mur- 
muring at  Eose  Mather's  want  of  sense  or  heart,  it  arose 
not  so  much  from  ill-nature,  as  from  astonishment  that 
she  could  be  so  callous  and  indifferent  to  an  object  of  so 
much  importance.  ^. 

"Wait  till  her  husband  goes,  and  she  won't  mince 
along  so  daintily,  taking  all  that  pains  to  show  her  Bal- 
moral, when  it  isn't  one  bit  muddy,"  muttered  the  Widow 
Simms,  pointing  out,  to  those  near  the  window,  the  lady 
in  question,  tripping  down  the  street  in  quest  of  lavender 
kids,  perhaps,  or  more  likely,  bound  for  her  husband's 
office,  where,  now  that  everybody  worked  all  day  long  at 
the  Hall,  she  spent  much  of  her  time,  it  was  so  lonely  at 
home,  with  nobody  to  call.  "  I  hope  he'll  be  drafted  and 
have  to  go,  upon  my  word !"  continued  the  widow,  whose 
heart  was  very  sore  with  thinking  of  the  three  seats  at 
her  fireside,  so  soon  to  be  vacated  by  her  darhng  boys,  Eh, 
John,  and  Isaac.  "  Yes,  I  do  hope  he'll  be  drafted,  don't 
vou,  IMrs.  Graham  ?"  and  she  turned  toward  Annie,  who 
was  rolling  up  bandages  of  hnen,  and  weaving  in  with  ev- 
ery coil  a  prayer  that  the  poor  soldier,  whose  lot  it  should 


24 


BOSE  MATHEE. 


be  to  need  that  band,  might  rettim  again  to  the  loved 
ones  at  home,  or  else  be  fitted  for  that  better  home, 
where  war  is  unknown. 

Annie  shook  her  head,  but  made  no  answer.  There 
was  no  bitterness  now  in  her  heart  against  Rose  Mather. 
She  had  prayed  that  all  away,  and  only  hoped  the  an- 
guish which  had  come  to  her,  making  her  brain  giddy, 
and  her  heart  faint,  might  never  be  borne  by  another,  if 
that  could  be.  George  had  vohmteered, — was  to  be  sec- 
ond heatenant,  and  Annie,  oh,  who  shall  tell  of  the 
gloom  which  had  fallen  so  darkly  around  the  cottage  she 
had  called  hers  for  one  brief  year.  It  was  a  neat,  cozy 
dwelling,  and  to  Annie  it  never  seemed  so  cheerful  as  on 
that  memorable  night  of  the  war-meeting,  when  she  had 
lighted  the  lamp,  and  sat  down  with  George  upon  the 
chintz-covered  lounge  he  had  helped  her  make  when  first 
she  was  a  bride.  It  is  true  the  carpet  was  not  of  velvet, 
like  that  Rose  Mather  trod  upon;  neither  was  there  in 
aU  the  house  one  inch  of  rosewood  or  of  marble,  but 
there  was  domestic  love,  pure  and  deep  as  any  Rose  ever 
experienced,  and  there  was  something  better  far  than 
that,  a  patient,  trustrag  faith  in  One  who  can  shed  light 
upon  the  di'eariest  home,  and  make  the  hea^dest  trial 
seem  like  nought.  It  was  this  trusting  faith  which  made 
Annie  Graham  the  sweet,  gentle  being  she  was,  shedding 
its  influence  over  her  whole  life,  and  softening  down  a 
disposition  which  otherwise  might  have  been  haughty 
and  resentful.  Annie  was  naturally  high-spirited  and 
proud,  and  Rose's  remarks  concerning  volunteers  in  gen- 
eral, and  George  in  particular,  had  stung  her  to  the 
([uick,  but  with  the  indignant  mood  there  came  another 
impulse,  and  ere  the  cottage  had  been  reached,  the  bitter 
feeling  had  gone,  leaving  nothing  but  sorrow  that  it  had 
ever  been  there.     Like  Rose,  she  wished  there  would  be 


KOSE  AND  ANNIE.  25 

no  war,  but  wishing  was  of  no  avail,  and  long  after 
George  Graham  wfis  asleep  and  dreamiag,  it  may  be,  of 
glories  won  on  battle-fields,  Annie  lay  awake,  questioning 
within  herself,  whether  she  ought,  by  word  or  deed,  to 
prevent  her  husband's  going,  if  he  felt  as  he  seemed  to 
feel,  that  it  was  as  much  his  duty  as  that  of  others  to 
join  in  his  country's  defence.  Annie  was  no  great  rea- 
soner,  logically;  all  her  decisions  were  made  to  turn  upon 
the  simple  question  of  right  and  wrong,  and  on  this  oc- 
casion she  found  it  hard  to  teU,  so  evenly  the  balance 
seemed  adjusted.  More  than  once  she  stole  from  her 
pillow,  and  going  out  into  the  fresh  night  air,  knelt  in  the 
moonlight,  and  asked  for  guidance  to  choose  the  right, 
even  though  that  right  should  take  her  husband  from 
her. 

"  If  I  knew  he  would  not  die,  it  would  not  be  so  hard 
to  give  him  up,"  she  murmured,  as  sickening  visions  of 
fields  strewn  with  the  dead,  and  hosi)itals  filled  with  the 
dying,  came  over  her,  and  for  an  instant  her  brain  reeled 
with  the  thought  of  George  dying  thus,  and  leaving  her 
no  hope  of  meeting  him  again,  for  George's  faith  was 
not  like  hers. 

Anon,  however,  something  whispered  to  her  that  the  God 
she  loved  was  on  the  field  of  carnage,  and  in  the  camp  and  in 
the  hospital,  and  everywhere  as  much  as  there  in  Eockland, 
that  prayers  innumerable  would  follow  the  brave  volun- 
teers, and  that  the  evil  she  so  much  feared  might  be  the 
means  of  working  the  great  good  she  so  desired.  And  thus 
it  was  that  Annie  came  to  a  decision.  Stealing  back  to  her 
husband's  side,  she  bent  above  him  as  he  lay  sleeping, 
and  with  a  heart  which  throbbed  to  its  very  core,  though 
the  Up  uttered  no  sound,  she  gave  him  to  his  country 
asking,  if  it  could  be,  that  he  might  come  back  again,  but 
if  it  were  ordered  otherwise — "God's  wiU  be  done." 
2 


26  EOSE  MATHER. 

There  was  no  shrinking  after  that  sacrifice  was  made, 
though  -when  the  morning  came,  the  death- white  face 
and  the  dark  circle  beneath  the  eyes,  told  of  a  weary 
yigil,  such  as  many  and  many  a  woman  kept  both  North 
and  South,  during  the  dark  hours  of  the  RebelHon.  But 
save  the  death-white  face,  antl  heavy  eye?,  there  was  no 
token  of  the  inner  struggle,  as  with  a  desperate  effort  at 
self-command,  Annie  wound  her  arms  around  her  hus- 
band's neck,  and  whispered  to  him,  "You  may  go, — I 
give  my  free  consent,"  and  George,  who  cared  far  more 
to  go  than  he  had  dared  express,  kissed  the  Hps  which 
tried  so  hai'd  to  smile,  httle  di-eaming  what  it  cost  his 
brave  young  wife  to  tell  him  what  she  had.  To  one  of 
his  temperament,  there  w^as  no  danger  to  be  feared 
for  himself.  .  The  bullet  which  might  strike  down  a 
brother  at  his  side  would  be  turned  away  fi*om  him. 
Others  would,  of  course,  be  killed,  but  he  should  escape 
unharmed.  In  the  language  of  one  speaker,  whose  elo- 
quent appeal  had  done  much  to  fiire  his  youthful  enthu- 
siasm, "  He  was  not  going  to  be  shot,  but  to  shoot  some- 
body !" 

This  was  his  idea,  and  ere  the  clinging  arms  had  un- 
clasped themselves  from  his  neck,  his  imagination  had 
leaped  forward  to  the  future,  and  in  fancy  George 
Graham  wore,  if  not  a  Colonel's,  at  least  a  Captain's  uni- 
form, and  the  cottage  on  the  hill,  which  Annie  so  much 
admired,  and  for  the  purchase  of  which  a  few  hundreds 
were  already  saved,  was  his, — bought  with  the  money  he 
would  earn.  The  deed  should  be  drawn  in  her  name, 
too,  he  said,  and  he  pictured  her  to  himself  coming  down 
the  walk  to  meet  him,  with  the  rose-blush  on  her  cheek, 
just  as  she  looked  the  first  time  he  ever  saw  her.  Some- 
thing of  this  he  told  her, — and  Annie  tried  to  smile,  and 
think  it  all  might  be.     But  her  heart  that  morning  was 


I50SE  Am)  kNmsL  27 

far  too  heavy  to  be  liglitned  by  a  picture  of  wbat 
seemed  so  improbable.  Still,  George's  hopeful  confi- 
dence did  much  to  reassure  her,  a.nd  when,  a  few  daya 
after,  she  started  for  the  Hall,  she  purposely  took  a 
longer  walk  for  the  sake  of  passing  the  cottage  on  the 
hill,  thinking,  as  she  leaned  over  the  low  iron  fence,  how 
she  would  arrange  the  flower-beds  more  tastefully  than 
they  were  now  arranged,  and  teach  the  drooping  vines 
to  twine  more  gracefully  around  the  slender  columns 
supporting  the  jfiazza  in  front.  She  would  have  seats, 
too, — willow-twisted  chairs  beneath  the  trees,  where  she 
and  George  could  sit  at  twilight,  and  watch  the  shadows 
creeping  across  the  hollow  where  the  old  cottage  was, 
and  up  the  opposite  hill,  where  the  cupola  of  Rose 
Mather's  home  was  plainly  visible,  blazing  in  the  April 
sunshine.  It  was  a  very  pleasant  castle  which  Annie 
built,  and  for  a  time  the  load  of  pain  which,  since  George 
volunteered,  had  lain  so  heavy  at  her  heart,  was  gone  ; 
but  it  returned  again  when,  as  she  passed  a  turn  in  the 
road,  her  eye  wandered  down  to  the  hoUow,  and  that 
other  cottage  standing  there  so  brown  and  small,  and 
looking  already  so  desolate,  because  she  knew  that  ere 
many  days  were  over,  she  should  wait  in  vain  for  the 
loved  footsteps  coming  down  the  road, — should  miss  the 
pleasant,  cheery  laugh,  the  teasing  joke  and  words  of 
love  which  made  the  world  all  sunshine.  The  cottage  on 
the  hiU  became  a  worthless  thing  as  poor  Annie  forced 
back  her  tears,  and  with  quickened  steps  hurried  on  to 
join  the  group  of  ladies  busy  at  the  Ha-U. 
*  Taking  her  seat  by  the  window,  she  commenced  the 
light  work  imposed  on  her,  that  of  tearing  and  winding 
bandages  for  those  who  might  be  wounded. 

"  Maybe  there'll  never  be  no  fight,  but  it's  well  enough 
to  be  prepared,"  was  the  soothing  remark  of  the  kind- 


28  BOSE  MATHER. 

hearted  woman  who  gave  the  worli  to  Annie,  noting,  as 
she  did  so,  how  the  lip  quivered  and  the  cheek  paled  at 
the  very  idea. 

"  What  if  George  should  need  them  ?"  kept  suggesting 
itself  to  her  as  she  worked  industriously  on,  hoping  that 
if  he  did,  some  one  of  the  rolls  she  was  winding  might 
come  to  him,  or  better  yet,  if  he  could  only  have  the  bit 
of  soft  Hnen  she  had  brought  herself, — a  piece  of  her 
0'v\Ti  clothing,  and  bearing  on  it  her  maiden  name,  Annie 
Howai'd.  He  would  be  sure  to  know  it,  ^he  said,  it  was 
written  so  plainly  with  indeHble  ink,  and  it  would  make 
him  feel  so  glad.  But  there  might  be  other  Annie  How- 
ards, it  was  not  an  uncommon  name,  was  suggested 
next  to  her,  as  she  tore  the  linen  in  strips,  and  quick  as 
thought,  her  hand  sought  the  pocket  of  her  di'ess  for  the 
pencU  which  she  knew  was  there.  Glancing  around  to 
see  that  no  one  observed  her,  she  touched  the  pencil  to 
her  lips  and  wrote  after  the  name,  "It's  \jour  Annie, 
George.  Try  to  believe  I'm  there.  Rockland,  April, 
1861." 

There  were  big  tear-drops  on  that  bit  of  liuen,  but 
Annie  brushed  them  away,  and  went  on  with  her  rolling, 
just  as  Widow  Simms  called  her  attention  to  Rose 
Mather,  as  mentioned  several  pages  back. 

Annie  could  not  account  for  it  to  herself,  but  ever 
since  Rose's  arrival  at  Rockland,  she  had  felt  a  strange 
inexplicable  interest  in  the  fashionable  belle;  an  interest 
prompted  by  something  more  than  mere  curiosity,  and 
now  that  there  was  an  opportunity  of  seeing  her  without 
being  herself  seen,  she  straightened  up  and  smoothing 
the  soft  braids  of  her  pale  brown  hair,  waited  for  the 
entrance  of  the  little  lady,  who,  with  her  pink  hat  set 
jauntily  on  her  chestnut  curls,  and  her  rich  fur  collar 
buttoned  gracefully   over  her  handsome    cloth    cloak, 


ROSE  Am)   ANNIE.  29 

tripped  into  the  room,  doing  much  by  her  snnny  smile 
and  pleasant  manner  to  disarm  the  ladies  of  their  recent 
prejudice  against  her.  She  was  nothing  but  a  child, 
they  reflected;  a  spoiled,  petted  child;  she  would  im- 
prove as  she  grow  older,  and  came  more  in  contact  with 
the  sharp  comers  of  the  world,  so  those  who  had  the 
honor  of  her  acquaintance,  received  her  with  the  fami- 
liar deference,  if  we  may  be  allowed  the  expression, 
which  had  always  marked  their  manner  toward  William 
Mather's  bride.  Rose  was  too  much  accustomed  to  soci- 
ety to  be  at  all  disconcerted  by  the*  hundred  pair  of  eyes 
turned  scrutinizingly  toward  her.  Indeed,  she  rather 
enjoyed  being  looked  at,  and  she  tossed  the  coarse  gar- 
ments about  with  a  pretty  playfulness,  saying  that 
"  since  the  ladies  had  called  upon  her  she  had  thought 
better  of  it,  and  made  up  her  mind  to  martyr  herself 
one  afternoon  at  least,  and  benefit  the  soldiers.  To  bo 
sure  there  wasn't  much  she  could  do.  She  might  hold 
yam  for  somebody  to  wind,  she  supposed,  but  she 
couldn't  knit,  and  she  didn't  want  to  sew  on  such  ugly, 
scratchy  stuff  as  those  flannel  shirts,  but  if  somebody 
would  thread  her  needle,  and  fix  it  all  right,  she'd  try 
what  she  could  do  on  a  pair  of  drawers." 

For  a  time  no  one  seemed  inclined  to  volunteer  her 
services,  and  Widow  Simms's  shears  clicked  spitefully 
loud  as  they  cut  through  the  cotton  flannel.  At  last, 
however,  Mrs.  Baker,  who  had  more  than  once  officiated 
as  washerwoman  at  the  Mather  mansion,  came  forward 
and  arranged  some  work  for  Eose,  who,  untying  the 
strings  of  her  pink  hat,  and  adjusting  her  tiny  gold  thim- 
ble, labored  on  until  she  had  succeeded  in  sewing  up 
and  joining  together  a  long  leg  with  one  some  inches 
shorter,  which  had  happened  to  be  lying  near.  Loud 
was  the  shout  which  a  discovery  of  this  mistake  called 


so  BOSE  MATHER. 

forth,  nor  was  it  at  all  abated  -when  Rose  demurely  asked 
if  it  would  not  answer  for  some  soldier  who  should 
chance  to  have  a  limb  shot  off  just  below  the  knee. 

"The  little  simpleton!"  muttered  the  widow,  while 
Mrs.  Baker  pointed  out  to  the  discomfited  lady  that  one 
division  of  the  drawers  was  right  side  out  and  the  other 
wrong  I 

There  was  no  alternative  save  to  rip  the  entire  thing, 
and  with  glowing  cheeks,  Rose  began  the  task  of  undoing 
what  she  had  done,  incidentally  letting  out,  as  she  worked, 
that  "Will  might  have  known  better  than  to  send  her 
there, — she  shouldn't  have  come  at  all  if  he  had  not  in- 
sisted, telling  her  people  would  call  her  a  secessionist  un- 
less she  did  something  to  benefit  the  soldiers.  She  didn't 
care  what  they  called  her;  she  knew  she  was  a  democrat, 
or  used  to  be  before  she  was  married;  but  now  that  Will 
was  a  republican,  she  hardly  knew  what  she  was;  any 
way,  she  was  not  a  secessionist,  and  she  wasn't  particularly 
interested  in  the  war  either;  why  should  she  be? — Will 
was  not  going,  nor  Brother  Tom,  nor  any  of  her  fi'iends. 

"But  somebody's  friends  are  going, — somebody's  Will, 
somebody's  Tom;  as  dear  to  them  as  yours  are  to  you," 
came  in  a  rebuking  tone  from  a  straight-forward,  out- 
spoken woman,  who  knew  from  sad  experience  that 
"  somebody's  Tom  was  going." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Rose,  a  shadow  for  an  instant 
crossing  her  bright  face,  "  and  its  dreadful,  too.  Will 
says  everything  will  be  so  much  higher,  and  it  will  be  so 
dull  at  Saratoga  and  Newport  next  summer,  without  the 
Southern  people.  One  might  as  well  stay  at  home. 
The  war  might  have  been  avoided,  too,  by  a  Httle  mutual 
forbearance  from  both  parties,  until  matters  could  be 
amicably  adjusted,  for  Brother  Tom  said  so  in  his  letter 
last  night,  and  a  heap  more  which  I  can't  remember." 


BOSE  AND  ANNIE.  31 

Here  Rose  paused  quite  exhausted,  with  the  effort  she 
had  made  to  repeat  the  opinion  of  Brother  Tom.  She 
had  read  all  his  last  letter,  fully  indorsing  as  much  of  it 
as  she  understood,  and  after  a  Httle  she  went  on : 

"  Wasn't  it  horrid,  though,  their  firing  into  the  Mas- 
sachusetts boys  ? — and  they  were  from  rif^ht  'round  Bos- 
ton, too.  Tom  saw  them  when  they  started.  They  were 
fine  looking  men,  he  says,  and  Will  thinks  I  ought  to  be 
proud  that  I'm  a  Bay  State  girl,  and  so  I  am,  but  it  isn't 
as  if  my  friends  had  gone.  Tom  is  a  democrat,  I  know, 
but  it's  quite  another  kind  that  join  the  army." 

Widow  Simms  could  keep  silent  no  longer,  and  brand- 
ishing her  poHshed  shears  by  way  of  adding  emphasis  to 
what  she  said,  she  began : 

"  And  s'posin'  'tis  folks  as  j)oor  as  poverty  struck,  haint 
they  feehn's,  I'd  hke  to  know?  Haint  they  got  bodies 
and  souls,  and  mothers,  and  wives,  and  sister^?  And 
s'posin'  'tis  democrats, — more  shame  for  t'other  side  that 
helped  get  up  the  muss.  Where  be  they  now,  them 
chaps  that  wore  the  big  black  capes,  and  did  so  much  to- 
ward puttin'  Lincoln  in  that  chair  ?  Why  don't  they  help 
to  keep  him  settin'  there,  and  not  stand  back  with  their 
hands  tucked  in  their  trouses'  pockets  ?  Both  my  boys, 
Eli  and  John,  voted  t'other  ticket,  and  Isaac  would,  but 
he  wasn't  twenty-one.  They've  all  jined,  and  I  won't  say 
I'm  sorry,  for  if  there's  anything  I  hate,  it's  a  sneak! 
It  makes  me  so  mad !"  and  the  big  shears  again  chcked 
savagely,  as  Widow  Simms  resumed  her  work,  after  hav- 
ing thus  delivered  her  opinion  of  the  black  republicans, 
besides  ha-ving,  in  her  own  words,  given  "  that  puckerin* 
jyiiss  Mathers  a  piece  of  her  mind." 

Obtuse  as  Hose  was  on  many  points,  she  saw  there 
was  some  homely  truth  in  what  the  widow  had  said,  but 
this  did  not  impress  her  so  much  as  the  fact  that  she 


82  EOSE  MATHER, 

had  evidently  given  offence,  and  she  was  about  ti-ying  to 
extricate  herseK  from  the  dilemma  when  George  Graham 
appeared,  ostensibly  to  biing  some  tmdal  message  to  the 
President  of  the  Society,  but  really  to  see  if  his  wife 
were  there,  and  speak  to  her  some  kind  word  of  encoiu'- 
agement.  Rose  recognized  him  as  the  young  man  she 
had  seen  at  the  war  meeting,  and  the  moment  he  left  the 
hall,  she  broke  out  impetuously, 

"Isn't  he  handsome? — so  tall,  so  broad-shouldered, 
and  such  a  splendid  mark  for  a  bullet, — I  most  know  he 
will  be  shotr 

"  Hush-sh  !"  came  warningly  from  several  individuals, 
but  came  too  late.  The  mischief  was  done.  Ere  Rose 
could  collect  her  thoughts  a  group  of  frightened  women 
had  gathered  around  poor  Annie,  who  had  fainted. 

"  WTiat's  the  matter?  do  tell!"  cried  Rose,  standing  on 
tip-toe  and  clutching  at  the  di-ess  of  Widow  Simms,  who 
angi'ily  retorted, 

"  I  should  s'pose  you'd  ask.  It's  enough  to  make  the 
poor  critter  faint  clean  away  to  hear  a  body  talk  about 
her  husband's  being  a  fust  rate  mark  for  a  bullet !" 

"With  all  her  thoughtlessness.  Rose  had  the  kindest 
heart  in  the  world;  and  forcing  her  way  through  the 
crowd,  she  knelt  by  the  white-faced- Annie,  and  tak- 
ing the  drooping  head  in  her  lap,  pushed  back  the 
thick  braids  of  hair,  noticing,  with  her  quick  eye  for  the 
beautiful,  how  soft  and  luxuriant  they  were,  how  pure 
was  the  complexion,  how  perfect  were  the  featui'es,  how 
small  and  dehcate  the  fingers,  and  how  graceful  was  the 
sbnder  neck. 

"I'm  so  sorry!  I  wish  I'd  staid  at  home;  I  am  so 
sorry,"  she  kept  repeating;  and  when  at  last  Annie  re- 
turne  tod  consciousness.  Rose  Mather's  was  the  fii'st 
voice  she  heard,  Rose's  the  first  face  she  saw. 


EOSE  AKD  ANNIE.  33 

With  an  inToluntary  shudder  she  closed  her  eyes  weari- 
ly, while  Eose  anxiously  asked  of  those  about  her  how 
they  should  get  her  home.  "  Oh,  Jake,"  she  suddenly  ex- 
claimed, as,  towering  above  the  female  heads,  she  saw 
her  colored  coachman  looking  for  her,  and  remembered 
that  her  husband  was  to  call  and  take  her  out  to  ride, 
"  oh,  Jake,  hft  this  lady  up,  careful  as  you  can,  and  put 
her  in  our  carriage.  Is  Will  there  ?  W^ell,  no  matter, 
he'll  just  have  to  get  out.  Stand  back,  won't  you,  and 
let  Jake  come,"  she  continued,  authoritatively  to  the 
group  of  ladies  who,  half-amused  and  half -surprised  at 
this  new  phase  in  Rose  Mather's  character,  made  way 
for  burly  Jake,  who  lifted^ Annie's  light  form  as  if  it  had 
been  a  feather's  weight,  and  bore  it  down  the  stairs,  fol- 
lowed by  Rose,  who,  with  one  breath,  told  Annie  not  to 
be  a  bit  afraid,  for  Jake  certainly  would  not  drop  her, 
and  with  the  next  asked  Jake  if  he  were  positive  and 
sure  he  was  strong  enough  not  to  let  her  fall. 

Lazily  reclining  upon  the  cushions  of  his  carriage,  Wil- 
liam Mather  was  smoking  his  Havana,  and  admu'ing 
the  sleek  coat  of  his  iron  greys,  when  Rose  appeared, 
and  seizing  him  by  the  arm,  peremptorily  ordered  him 
to  ahght,  and  help  Jake  hft  the  lady  in. 

"  I  ^on't  know  who  'tis,  but  it's  somebody  I  made  faint 
away  with  my  silly  talk,"  she  repHed  in  answer  to  Mr. 
Mather's  question,  "  Who  have  you  there  ?" 

"  You  made  faint  away !"  he  re^Deated,  as  he  found 
himself  rather  unceremoniously  landed  upon  the  flag- 
ging stones,  his  Havana  rolling  at  his  feet,  and  his  wife 
preparing  to  follow  Annie,  whom  Jake  had  placed  inside. 

"Yes;  I  talked  about  her  husband's  being  a  splendid 
mark  for  a  bullet,  and  all  that,  without  ever  thinking  she 
was  his  wife.  He  looked  so  tall,  and  big,  and  nice,  that 
I  couldn't  help  thinking  his  head  would  come  above  ^.U 


2* 


84  EOSE  MATHER. 

the  rest  in  a  fight,  but  I  don't  believe  it  will.  There, 
Jake,  we  are  ready  now,  diive  on,"  said  Rose,  while  poor 
Annie  groaned  afresh  at  this  doubtfrd  consolation. 

"Drive  whar?"  asked  Jake.  "I  dun  know  whar  they 
lives." 

"To  be  sure,  nor  I  either,"  returned  Rose,  turning 
inquiringly  to  her  husband,  who  gave  the  information, 
adding,  as  he  glanced  down  the  street, 

"  Mr.  Graham  himself  is  coming,  I  see.  I  think,  Rose, 
you  had  best  give  your  place  to  him." 

Rose,  who  was  fond  of  adventures,  wanted  sadly  to  go 
with  Annie,  but  George,  when  he  came  up,  seemed  so 
concerned,  and  asked  so  ij^any  questions,  that  she 
deemed  it  best  to  leave  it  for  his  wife  to  make  the  neces- 
sary explanations,  merely  saying,  as  she  stepj)ed  upon 
the  walk, 

"I  am  so  sorry,  Mr.  Graham;  I  really  did  not  mean 
anything  wrong  in  saving  I  knew  you'd  be  shot,  for  you 
are  so " 

"  Rose,  your  dress  is  rubbing  the  wheel,"  interrupted 
Mr.  Mather,  by  way  of  diverting  Rose  from  repeating 
the  act  for  which  she  was  expressing  sorrow. 

"  No,  it  ain't  rubbing  the  wheel,  either.  It  isn't  any 
where  near  it,"  said  Rose,  wondering  what  Will  could 
mean;  while  George,  taking  a  seat  by  Annie,  smiled  at 
what  he  saw  to  be  a  ruse. 

Bent  upon  reconciliation.  Rose  pressed  up  to  the  car- 
riage, and  said  to  Annie,  "  You  won't  be  angry  at  me  al- 
ways, will  you  ?  I  shouldn't  have  thought  of  it,  only  he 
does  look  so " 

"  Go  on,  Jake,"  Mr.  Mather  called  out,  cutting  short 
Rose's  speech,  and  the  next  moment  Annie  was  driving 
down  the  street  in  Rose  Mather's  carriage,  and  behind 


THE  DEPAETUKE.  35 

the  iron  greys,  an  honor  she  had  never  dreamed  in  store 
for  her  when  she  saw  the  styHsh  turnout  passing  the 
door  of  her  cottage  in  the  Hollow. 


CHAPTEE  in. 


THE   DEPARTTJRE. 


HE  13th  Regiment  was  ordered  to  Elmira,  and 
rjj^\  the  day  had  arrived  for  the  departure  of  the  vol- 
^^p  unteers.  Bright  was  the  sun,  and  cloudless  the 
sky  which  shone  on  Rockland,  that  spring  day;  but  cloud- 
less sky  nor  warm  spring  sun  could  comfort  the  hearts 
about  to  part  with  their  treasures,  some  forever,  and 
some  to  meet  again,  but  when,  or  where,  or  how,  none 
could  tell  save  Him  who  holds  the  secrets  of  the  future. 

There  were  mothers  who  had  never  felt  a  pang  so  keen 
or  a  paiu  so  sore,  as  when  with  hearts  too  full  of  anguish 
for  the  dry,  red  eyes  to  weep,  they  watched  their  sons 
pass  from  the  threshold  of  the  door,  and  knew  that 
when  the  golden  sunlight,  falling  so  brightly  around 
them,  was  purple  in  the  west,  they  would  look  in  vain 
for  that  retui'ning  step,  and  Hsten  ia  vain  for  tones  which 
were  the  first,  perhaps,  to  stir  the  deep  fountains  of  ma- 
ternal love.  Fathers,  too,  were  there,  with  heads  bent 
down  to  hide  the  tears  they  deemed  it  weak  to  shed,  as 
they  gave  the  farewell  blessing  to  their  boy,  praying  that 
God  might  be  over  and  around  him,  both  when  the  deaf- 
ening battle  roar  was  sounding  in  his  ear,  and  when  in 
the  stilly  night  he  wi'apped  his  blanket  about  him,  and 
laid  him  down  to  rest,  sometimes  with  the  southern  stars 
shining  upon  him,  and  sometimes  with  the   southern 


86  ROSE  MATHER. 

rain  falling  on  his  unsheltered  head,  for  aU  these  vicissi- 
tudes must  come  to  a  soldier  on  the  field.  Wives  and 
sisters,  too,  there  "were,  who  shuddered  as  they  thought 
li(3w  the  dear  ones  to  whom  they  said  good-bye,  would 
miss  the  comforts  they  were  leaving,  miss  the  downy 
pillow,  the  soft,  warm  bed  made  with  loving  hands,  and 
the  luxuries  of  home  never  prized  one  half  so  much  a3 
now,  when  they  were  to  be  exchanged  for  a  hfe  wdthin 
the  camp.  And  there  were  maidens,  fi'om  whose  cheeks 
the  roses  faded,  as  they  gave  the  parting  kiss,  and  prom- 
ised to  be  faithful,  even  though  the  manly  form  the  lover 
bore  away  should  come  back  to  them  all  maimed  and 
crushed  and  crippled  with  the  toil  of  war.  Far  better 
so  than  not  to  come  at  all.  At  least  so  Annie  Graham 
thought,  as,  winding  her  arms  around  her  husband's 
neck,  she  whispered  to  him: 

"If  the  body  you  biing  back  has  my  George's  heart 
within  it,  I  shall  love  you  just  the  same  as  I  do  now," 
and  with  her  fair  head  lying  on  his  bosom,  Annie  wept 
piteously. 

Not  till  then  had  she  realized  what  it  was  to  let  him 
go.  She  had  become  somewhat  accustomed  to  thinking 
of  it, — accustomed  to  seeing  him  pass  in  and  out,  dressed 
in  his  styhsh  uniform,  which  made  him  look  so  hand- 
some, and  then  she  had  hoped  the  regiment  would  not  be 
ordered  for  a  long,  long  time,  never  perhaps;  but  now 
that  dream  was  over;  the  dreaded  hour  had  come,  and 
for  a  moment  Annie  felt  herself  too  weak  to  meet  it. 
Through  the  livelong  night  she  had  prayed,  or  if  per- 
chance sleep  for  a  moment  shut  the  swollen  hds,  the  Hps 
had  moved  in  prayer  that  her  husband  might  come  back 
to  her  again,  or  faihug  to  do  so,  that  he  might  grasp, 
even  at  the  eleventh  houi-,  the  Christian's  faith,  and  so 
go  to  the  Christian's  home,  where  they  would  meet  once 


THE  DEPAllTUKE.  37 

more.  Slie  had  given  him  her  little  Bible,  all  pencil- 
marked  and  worn  with  daily  usage, — the  one  she  read 
when  first  the  spirit  taught  her  the  meaning  of  its  great 
mysteries, — and  George  had  promised  he  would  read  it 
every  day, — had  said  that  when  he  went  to  battle  he 
would  place  it  next  his  heart,  a  talisman  to  shield  him 
from  the  bullets  of  the  foe.  And  Annie,  smiling  through 
her  tears,  pointed  him  again  to  the  only  One  who  could 
stand  between  him  and  death,  asking  that  when  he  was 
far  away,  he  would  remember  what  she  said,  and  pray  to 
the  God  she  honored. 

"  It's  time,  now,  darling,"  he  said,  at  last,  as  he  heard 
in  the  distance  the  beat  of  the  dmm. 

But  the  clinging  arms  refused  to  leave  his  neck,  and 
the  quivering  lips  pressed  so  constantly  to  his,  mur- 
mured: 

"Wait  a  httle  minute  more.  'Tis  the  last,  you 
know.'* 

Again  the  drum-beat  was  heard  mingled  with  the  shrill 
notes  of  the  fife;  the  soldiers  were  marching  down  the 
street,  and  he  must  go,  but  oh,  who  can  tell  of  the  love,  the 
pain,  the  grief,  the  tears  mingled  with  that  parting, 
— or  the  agony  it  cost  poor  Annie  to  take  her  arms 
from  off  his  neck,  to  feel  him  putting  her  away,  to 
hear  him  going  from  the  room,  across  the  threshold, 
down  the  walk,  through  the  gate,  and  know  that  he  was 
gone. 

As  a  child  in  peril  instinctively  turns  to  the  mother 
who  it  knows  has  never  failed  to  succor,  so  Annie  turned 
to  God,  and  with  a  moaning  cry  for  help,  sank  on  her 
knees  just  where  George  had  left  her.  Burying  her  face 
in  the  lounge  she  prayed  that  He  who  heareth  even  the 
raven's  cry,  would  care  for  her  husband,  and  bring  him 
home  again  if  that  could  be.     So  absorbed  was  she  as 


IPO  BOSE  MATHER. 

not  to  hear  the  gate's  sharp  click,  nor  the  footstep  com- 
ing up  the  walk.  Impelled  by  something  he  could  not 
resist,  George  had  paused  just  by  the  garden  fence,  and 
yielding  to  the  impulse  which  said  he  must  see  Annie's 
face  once  more,  he  stole  softly  to  the  open  door,  and 
Btood  gazing  at  her  as  she  knelt,  her  hands  clasped  to- 
gether, and  her  face  hidden  from  his  view,  as  she  prayed 
for  him. 

"Will  the  kind  Father  keep  my  George  from  peril  if  it. 
can  be,  but  if,- — oh,  God,  how  can  I  say  it  ? — if  he  must 
die,  teach  him  the  road  to  Heaven." 

That  was  what  she  said,  and  George,  listening  to  her, 
felt  as  if  it  were  an  angel's  presence  in  which  he  stood. 
He  could  not  disturb  her.  She  was  in  safer  hands  than 
his,  and  he  would  rather  leave  her  thus, — would  rather 
think  of  her  when  far  away,  just  as  he  saw  her  last, 
kneeling  in  her  desolation  and  praying  for  him. 

"It  will  help  to  make  me  a  better  man,"  he  said,  and 
brushing  aside  the  great  tears  swimming  in  his  eyes,  he 
left  his  angel  Annie,  and  went  on  his  way  to  battle. 


Just  off  from  Rockland's  main  street,  and  in  a  cottage 
more  humble  than  that  of  George  Graham,  the  sun  shone 
on  another  parting, — on  Widow  Simms  giving  up  her 
boys,  and  straining  every  nerve  to  look  composed,  and 
keep  back  the  maternal  love  throbbing  so  madly  at  her 
heart.  Rigid  as  if  cut  in  stone  were  the  lines  upon  her 
forehead  and  around  her  mouth,  as  she  bustled  about, 
doing  everything  exactly  as  it  should  be  done,  and  com- 
ing often  to  where  Isaac  sat  trying  "to  look  unconcerned 
and  whistling  "Dixie'*  as  he  pulled  on  the  soft,  warm 
pair  of  socks  she  had  sat  up  nights  to  knit  him.  Eli  and 
John  had  some  too,  snugly  tucked  away  in  their  bundle, 


THE  DEPARTUEE. 


39 


but  Isaac's  were  different.  She  had  ravelled  her  own 
lamb's  wool  stockings  for  the  material  comjjosing  his, 
for  Isaac's  feet  were  tender;  there  were  marks  of  chil- 
blains on  them;  they  would  become  sore  and  swollen 
from  the  weary  march,  and  his  mother  would  not  be 
there  with  soothing  lint  and  ointment  made  from  the 
blue  poke- berries.  Great  pains  had  the  widow  taken 
with  her  breakfast  that  morning,  preparing  each  son's 
favorite  dish  and  bringing  out  the  six  china  cups  and 
damask  cloth,  part  of  her  grandmother's  bridal  dower. 
It  was  a  very  tempting  table,  and  John  and  Eli  tried  to 
eat,  exchanging  meaning  smiles  when  they  saw  their 
mother  put  in  Isaac's  cup  the  biggest  lump  of  sugar,  and 
the  lai'gest  share  of  cream.  They  did  not  care, — for  they 
too  loved  the  fair-haired,  smooth-faced  boy  sipping  the 
yellow  coffee  he  could  not  diink  for  the  mysterious 
bunches  rising  so  fast  in  his  throat.  The  breakfast  was 
over  now.  Isaac  was  trying  on  his  socks,  while  Eli  and 
John,  knowing  their  mother  would  rather  be  alone  when 
she  said  good-bye  to  her  baby,  prepared  to  start,  talking 
quite  loud,  and  keeping  up  stout  courage  till  the  last 
moment  came,  when  both  the  tall,  six-foot  young  men 
put  their  arms  around  the  widow's  neck,  and  faltered  a 
faint  "  Good-bye,  mother,  good-bye." 

There  were  no  tears  in  the  mother's  eyes,  nor  in  the 
sons',  but  in  the  breast  of  each  there  was  a  whirlpool  of 
raging  waters,  hurting  far  more  than  if  they  had  been 
suffered  to  overflow  in  torrents.  Eli  was  Jhe  first  to  go, 
for  John  lingered  a  moment.  There  was  something  he 
would  say,  something  which  made  him  blush  and  stam- 
mer. 

"Mother,"  he  began,  "I  saw  Susan  last  night.  We 
went  to  Squire  Harding's  together  ;  and, — and, — well, 
*taint  no  use  opposing  it  now, — Susan  and  I  are  one;  and 


40  ROSE  MATUER. 

if  I  shouldn't  come  back,  be  good  to  her,  for  my  saka 
Susan's  a  nice  girl,  mother,"  and  on  the  brown,  bearded 
cheek,  there  was  a  tear,  wrung  out  by  thoughts  of  only 
last  night's  bride,  Susan  Huggles,  whose  family  the  widow 
did  not  hke,  and  had  set  herseK  against. 

There  was  no  help  now,  and  a  sudden  start  was  aU  the 
widow's  answer.  She  was  not  angry,  John  knew;  and 
satisfied  with  this,  he  joined  his  brother  in  the  yard, 
where  he  was  cutting  his  name  upon  the  beech  tree. 
Thrice  the  widow  called  them  back,  faiUng  each  time  to 
remember  what  she  wanted  to  say.  "  It  was  somethiug, 
siu'e,"  and  the  hard  hands  worked  nervously,  twisting  up 
the  gingham  apron  into  a  roll,  smoothing  it  out  again 
and  working  at  the  strings,  untH  EH  and  John  passed 
from  the  yard,  and  left  her  standing  there,  watching 
them  as  they  walked  down  the  road.  They  were  a 
grand-looking  couple,  she  thought,  as  she  saw  how 
well  they  ke^tt  step.  They  were  to  march  together 
to  the  depot,  she  knew,  and  nobody  in  town  could  turn 
out  a  finer  span,  but  who  would  go  with  Isaac? — 
"  Stub,"  his  brothers  called  him.  She  hoped  it  might  be 
Judge  Warner's  son, — it  would  be  such  an  honor;  and 
that  brought  her  back  to  the  fact  that  Isaac  was  waiting 
for  her  inside ;  that  the  hardest  part  of  all  was  yet  to 
come,  the  bidding  him  good-bye.  He  was  not  in  the 
chair  where  she  had  left  him  sitting,  but  was  standing 
by  the  window,  and  raising  often  to  his  eyes  his  cotton 
handkerchief.  He  heard  his  mother  come  in,  and  turn- 
ing toward  her,  said,  with  a  sobbing  laugh: 

"  I  wish  the  plaguy  thing  was  over." 

She  thought  he  meant  the  war,  and  answered  that  "it 
would  be  in  a  few  months,  perhaps." 

"  I  don't  mean  that,  I  mean  the  telling  you  good-bye. 
Mother,  oh,  mother !"  and  the  warm-hearted  boy  clasp^ed 


THE    DEPAHTUPtE.  •  ^^ 


his  mother  to  his  bosom,  crying  like  a  child  ;  if  Ive 
ever  been  mean  to  you,"  he  said,  his  voice  choked  with  tears 
— "  if  I'v  e  ever  been  mean  to  you,  or  done  a  hateful  thing, 
you'll  forget  it  when  I'm  gone  ?  I  never  meant  to  be  bad 
and  the  time  I  made  that  face,  and  called  you  an  old  tool, 
when  I  was  a  httle  boy,  you  don't  know  how  sorry  I  felt, 
nor  how  long  I  cried  in  the  trundle-bed  after  you  were 
asleep.  You'll  forget  it,  won't  you,  when  I  am  gone, 
never  to  come  back,  maybe  ?    WHl  you,  mother,  say  ? 

Would  she  ?  Could  she  remember  aught  against  her 
youngest  born,  save  that  he  had  ever  been  to  her  the 
best,  the  dearest,  most  obedient  child  in  the  world?  :No, 
she  could' not,  and  so  she  told  him,  caressing  his  light 
brown  hair  and  showering  upon  it  the  kisses  which  the 
compressed  hps  could  no  longer  restrain.  The  foimtam 
of  love  was  broken,  and  the  widow^s  tears  dropped  hke 
rain  on  the  upturned  face  of  her  boy. 

Suddenly  there  came  to  their  ears  the  same  drum-beat 
which  had  sounded  so  like  a  funeral  knell  to  Annie  Gra- 
ham. Isaac  must  go,  but  not  till  one  act  more  was  done. 
«  Mother,"  he  whispered,  half  hesitatingly,  "  it  wiUmake 
me  a  better  soldier  if  you  say  the  Lord's  Prayer  with  me 
just  as  you  used  to  do,  with  your  hand  upon  my  head. 
Ill  kneel  down,  if  you  like,"  and  the  boy  of  eighteen, 
wearing  a  soldier's  dress,  did  kneel  down,  nor  felt  shame 
as  the  shaky  hand  rested  once  more  on  his  bowed  head, 
while  his  mother  said  with  him  the  prayer  learned  years 
ago,  kneehng  as  he  knelt  now. 

Siu-elyto  the  angels  looking  on  there  was  charge  given 
concerning  that  young  boy,-charge  to  see  that  no  mur- 
derous buUet  came  near  him,  even  though  they  should 
fall  round  him  thick  and  fast  as  summer  hail.  It  would 
eeem  that  some  such  thought  as  this  intruded  itself 
upon  the  Widow  Simms,  for  where  the  swelling  pain  had 


42  •  HOSE  MATHEB. 

been  there  came  a  gentle  peace.  God  -would  care  foi 
Isaac.  He  would  send  him  home  in  safety,  and  so  the 
bitterness  of  that  parting  was  more  than  half  taken 
away. 

Again  the  drum  beat  just  as  Annie  heard  it.  Another 
pressure  of  the  hand,  another  burning  kiss,  another 
"good-bye,  mother,  don't  fret  too 'much  about  us,"  and 
then  the  last  of  the  widow's  boys  was  gone. 

Turn  we  now  to  the  shantj^-hke  building  down  by  the 
mill,  where  the  mother  of  Harry  and  Bill  rocked  to  and 
fro  upon  the  unmade  bed,  and  rent  the  air  with  her  dis- 
mal howls,  hoping  thus  to  win  at  least  one  tender  word 
fi'om  the  two  youths,  voraciously  devouring  the  breakfast 
she,  like  Widow  Simms,  had  been  at  so  much  pains  to 
prepare,  watching  even  through  her  tears  to  see  "  if 
they  wan't  going  to  leave  her  one  atom  of  the  steak  she 
had  spent  her  yesterday's  earnings  to  buy." 

No  they  didn't.  Harry  took  the  last  piece,  growling 
angrily  at  Bill,  who,  kinder  hearted  than  his  brother, 
suggested  that  "  Hal  shouldn't  be  a  pig,  but  leave  some- 
thing for  the  old  woman." 

"  Leave  it  yourself,*'  was  Harry's  gruff  response,  and 
turning  to  his  mother,  he  told  her  "  not  to  make  a  fool 
of  herself,  when  she  knew  she  was  glad  to  be  rid  of  them. 
At  any  rate,  if  she  were  not,  the  whole  village  were;" 
adding,  by  way  of  consolation,  that  *'  he  should  probably 
end  his  days  in  State  Prison  if  he  staid  at  home,  and  he 
had  better  be  shot  in  a  fair  fight,  as  there  was  some 
credit  in  that." 

Around  Harry  Baker's  childhood  there  clustered  no 
remembrance  of  prayers  said  at  the  mother's  knee,  or  of 
Bible  stories  told  in  the  dusky  twilight,  and  though  reared 
in  New  England,  within  sight  of  the  church  spire,  he  had 
rarely  been  inside   the   house  of  God,  and  this  it  waa 


THE  DEPAETiniE.  43 

wHcli  made  the  difference  between  tliat  scene  and  tlie 
one  transpiring  in  the  house  of  Widow  Simms.  All  the 
animal  passions  in  Harry  Baker's  case  were  brought  to 
full  perfection,  unsubdued  by  any  softer  influence,  and 
rising  from  the  table,  after  having  filled  his  stomach  al- 
most to  bursting,  he  swaggered  across  the  room,  and 
opening  his  bimdle  began  to  comment  upon  the  differ- 
ent articles,  he  having  been  too  drunk  to  notice  them 
when  given  to  him  on  the  previous  night. 

"  What  in  thunder  is  this  for  ?"  he  exclaimed,  hold- 
ing up  the  cahco  housewife,  and  letting  buttons,  scis- 
sors and  thread  drop  upon  the  floor.  "Plaguy  pretty 
implements  of  war,  these !"  and  he  began  to  enumerate 
the  articles.  "  Fine  tooth  comb,  black  as  the  ace  of 
spades.  Good  enough  idea  that;  hain't  used  one  since 
I  can  remember/'  and  he  passed  it  through  his  shaggy 
hair,  whose  ajDpearance  fully  verified  the  truth  of  his 
assertion.  "HaK  a  paper  of  pins.  Why  didn't  the 
stingy  critters  give  us  more  ?  An  old  brass  thimble, 
too.  Here,  mother,  I'll  give  you  that  to  remember  me 
by,"  and  he  tossed  it  into  her  lap.  The  drawers  then 
took  his  attention;  the  identical  pair  Eose  Mather  made, 
and  though  they  were  better  than  any  he  had  ever  worn, 
he  laughed  at  them  derisively.  Trying  them  on  he  suc- 
ceeded in  making  quite  a  long  rip  in  one  of  the  seams, 
for  Eose's  stitches  were  none  the  shortest.  Then,  with  a 
flourish,  he  kicked  them  off,  uttering  an  oath  as  he  felt  a 
sharp  scratch  from  the  needle  which  Eose  had  broken, 
and  failed  to  extricate.  The  woolen  shirt  came  next,  but 
any  remarks  he  might  have  made  upon  that,  were 
prevented  by  his  catching  sight  of  the  lUde  brown  book 
which  lay  at  thejbottom  of  the  bundle. 

"  Hurrah,  Bill,  if  here  ain't  a  Testament,  with  *  Harry 
Baker '    inside.     Eich,    by    George  !     Wonder    if    they 


44  ROSE  MATHEB. 

s'posed  I'd  read  it.  Let  us  see  what  it  says.  '  Como 
unto  me  all  ye  that  labor.'  Mother,  that  means  yoii,  scrub- 
bin'  and  workin',  you  know.  Keep  the  pesky  thing.  I 
enlisted  to  Hck  the  Southerners,  not  to  sing  hiniec>  and 
psalms  !"  and  he  threw  the  sabred  book  across  the  floor, 
just  as  the  first  drum-beat  sounded.  "  That's  the  signal," 
he  exclaimed,  and  hastily  rolling  up  the  shirt  and  drawers, 
he  started  for  the  door,  carelessly  saying,  "  Come  Bill, 
take  your  Testament  and  come  along.  Good-bye,  old  lady. 
You  needn't  wear  black  if  I'm  killed.  'Twon't  pay,  I 
guess." 

"  Oh,  Hariy,  Harry,  wait.  Wait,  Billy  boy,  do  wait. 
Give  your  old  marm  one  kiss,"  and  the  poor  womau  tot- 
tered toward  Hany,  who  savagely  repulsed  her,  saying 
"  he  wan't  going  to  have  her  slobterin'  over  him." 

"  You,  BiUy,  then,  you'll  let  me  kiss  you,  won't  you  ?" 
and  she  turned  toward  Bill,  who  hesitated  a  moment, 
for  HaiTy  was  in  the  way. 

Bill  was  afi-aid  of  Harry's  jeers,  and  so  he,  too,  refused, 
while  the  wailing  cry  rose  louder. 

"  Oh.  Billy,  do  just  once,  and  I've  been  so  good  to  you  I 
Just  once,  do,  Billy." 

"  Shan't  do  it,"  was  Bill's  re^Dly,  as  he  followed  Harry, 
who,  as  a  farewell  parting  had  hui'led  a  stone  at  a  cow 
across  the  street,  set  the  dog  on  his  mother's  kitten, 
stepped  on  the  old  cat's  tail,  and  then  left  the  yard,  slam- 
ming after  him  the  rickety  gate  his  mother  had  tried  in 
vain  to  have  him  fix  before  he  went. 

Billy,  however,  waited.  There  was  something  more 
human  in  his  nature  thsin  in  his  brother's.  He  had  not 
thrown  his  Testament  away,  and  the  sight  of  it  in  his 
bundle  had  touched  a  tender  chord,  making  him  half 
resolve  to   read  it.     Watching  his  brother  till  he  was 


THE  DEPARTURE.  45 

ont  of  sight,  he  went  back  to  where  his  mother  sat,  moan- 
ing dolefully, 

"  Oh  that  I  should  raise  sich  boys  '.—that  I  should 
raise  sich  boys !" 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  and  Mrs.  Baker's  heart  fairly  leaped 
at  the  sound,  for  there  was  genuine  sjrmpathy  in  the  tone. 
"  Mother,  now  that  Hal  has  gone,  I  don't  mind  kissin* 
you,  or  lettin'  you  kiss  me,  if  you  want  to." 

The  doleful  moan  was  a  perfect  scream  as  the 
shrivelled  arms  clasped  Bill,  while  the  joyful  mother 
kissed  the  rough  but  not  ill-humored  face. 

"  There,  now,  don't  screech  so  like  an  owl,"  he  said, 
releasing  himself  from  her,  and  adding,  as  he  glanced 
at  a  huge  silver  watch,  won  by  gambling,  "  Maybe  seein' 
I've  a  few  minutes  to  s^Dare,  I'll  drive  a  nail  or  so  into 
that  confounded  gate,  and  I  dun  know,  but  while  I'm 
^  about  it,  I'll  spht  you  an  armful  of  wood.  I  had  or'to 
have  cut  up  the  huU  on't  I  s'pose,  but  when  Hal  is  'round 
I  can't  do  nothiu'." 

It  was  strange  how  many  Httle  things  Bill  did  do  in 
these  few  minutes  he  had  to  spare  — things  which  added 
greatly  to  his  mother's  comfort,  and  saved  her  several 
shillings,  beside  making  a  soft  warm  spot  in  a  heart  which 
knew  not  many  such.  Glancing  at  the  tall  clock  brought 
from  New  England,  when  Mrs.  Baker  first  moved  to  Kock- 
land,  Bill  remarked: 

"The  darned  thing  has  stopped  agin.  I  or'to  have 
iled  it,  I  s'pose.  It  would  kind  of  been  company  for  you, 
hearin'  it  tick.  I  vum,  if  I  hain't  a  mind  to  give  you  this 
old  turnep,"  and  again  he  drew  out  the  silver  watch. 
"  You'll  lay  abed  all  day  without  no  time.  Like  enough 
I'll  nab  one  from  some  tamal  rebel, — who  knows  ?"  and 
with  his  favorite  expression,  "  Niiff  said"  Bill  laid  the 
watch  upon  the  table,  his  mother  moaning  all  the  while, 
"  BiUy  boy,  Billy  boy,  I  never  sot  so  much  store  by 


46  ROSE  MATHER. 

you  before.  How  can  I  let  you  go  ?  Stay,  Billy,  do,  oi 
else  run  away  the  first  chance  you  git.  Will  you,  Billy 
boy?" 

"Not  by  a  jug  full!"  was  the  emi)hatic  response.  "  I 
ain't  none  of  that  kind.  I'll  be  shot  like  a  dog  before 
I'U  run.  The  Baker  name  shall  never  be  disgraced  by 
my  desertin'.  It's  more  like  Hal  to  do  that;  but  don't 
howl  so.  I'm  kinder  puttin'  on  the  tender,  you  know, 
'cause  I'm  goin'  away.  I  should  be  ugly  as  ever  if  I's 
to  stay  to  hum.  So  stop  your  snivehn',"  and  having 
driven  the  last  nail  into  a  broken  chair,  Bill  gathered  up 
his  bundle,  and  with  the  single  remark,  "Nuff  said," 
darted  through  the  open  door,  and  was  off  ere  his  mother 
fairly  comprehended  it. 

There  was  a  great  crowd  out  that  morning  to  see  the 
company  off.  Fathers,  mothers,  wives,  and  sisters, — 
those  who  had  friends  in  the  company  and  those  who  had 
none.  The  Mather  carriage  was  there,  and  from  its  win- 
dow Rose's  childish  face  looked  out,  now  irradiated  with 
smiles  as  its  owner  bowed  to  some  acquaintance,  and 
again  shadowed  with  sympathy  as  the  cries  of  some  be- 
reaved one  were  heard  amid  the  throng. 

Widow  Simms,  too,  was  there,  drawn  thither  by  a  de- 
sire to  see  if  Isaac  did  march  with  Charhe  Warner,  as 
she  hoped  he  would,  notwithstanding  that  he  had  told 
her  he  was  probably  too  short.  She  didn't  beheve 
that, — ^he  was  taller  than  he  looked,  and  inasmuch  as 
Charlie  was  the  most  aristocratic  of  the  company,  she 
did  hope  Isaac  would  go  with  him.  So  there  she  stood 
waiting,  not  far  fi-om  Mrs.  Baker,  who  had  dried  her 
eyes,  and  come  for  a  last  look  at  her  boys. 

Onward  the  soldiers  came,  slowly,  steadily  onward,  the 
regular  tread  of  their  feet  and  the  measured  beat  of  the 
drum  making  solemn  music  as  they  came,  and  sending 
a  chill  to  many  a  heart;  for  'twas  no  gala  day,  no  Fourth 


THE   DEPARTUEE.  47 

of  July,  no  old  fashioned  general  training,  they  were 
there  to  celebrate.  Every  di'um-beat  was  a  note  of  war, 
and  they  who  kept  time  to  it  were  going  forth  to  battle. 
Onward,  onward  still  they  came,  George  Graham's  splen- 
did figure  towermg  above  the  rest,  and  ehciting  more 
than  one  flattering  compliment  from  the  lookers  on. 

There  were  John  and  Eli,  side  by  side, — John  eagerly 
scanning  the  female  forms  which  lined  the  walk  for  a 
sight  of  last  night's  bride,  and  Eli  looking  for  his  mother, 
if  perchance  she  should  be  there.  She  was  there,  and 
what  to  John  was  better  yet,  she  stood  with  her  hand  on 
Susan's  shoulder,  showing  that  thus  early  she  was  trying 
to  mother  her. 

"  That's  him, — that's  John,"  and  Susan's  voice  faltered 
as  she  pointed  him  out  to  the  ^\'idow,  whose  heart  gave 
one  great  spasm  of  pain  as  she  saw  him,  and  then  grew 
suddenly  still  with  wrath  and  indignation ;  for  alas,  her 
Isaac,  who  was  to  have  gone  with  Charlie  Warner,  son 
of  Kockland's  Judge,  was  marching  with  WiUiam  Baker, — 
£ill^ — ^ho  had  been  to  the  workhouse  twice,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  times  he  had  stolen  her  rare-ripes  and  early 
melons !  She  had  not  looked  for  anything  like  this,  and 
could  scarcely  beheve  her  senses.  Yet  there  they  were, 
right  before  her  eyes,  Isaac  and  Bill,  the  former  hoping 
his  mother  would  not  see  him,  and  the  latter  trying  not 
to  see  his  mother,  who  was  quite  as  much  delighted  to 
see  him  with  Isaac  Simms  as  the  widow  would  have  been 
had  Isaac  been  with  Charlie  Warner,  just  in  front. 

Mrs.  Baker  had  followed  her  sons  to  the  haU,  had 
heard  the  reasons  for  the  captain's  decision,  and  she 
called  out  in  a  loud,  exultant  tone, 

"  Miss  Simms !  Miss  Simms  do  you  see  your  Ike  with 
Billy  ?  Cap'n  Johnson  would  have  put  him  with  Charlie 
Warner  if  he  hadn't  feU  short  two  inches.     Look  kinder 


48  HOSE   MATHER. 

nice  together,  don't  they  ?  only  Ike  stoops  a  trifle,  *pearfl 
to  me." 

It  didn't  "  'pear  "  so  to  AVidow  Simms,  but  then  her  eyes 
were  blurred  so  that  she  could  not  see.  distinctly,- for, 
strange  to  say,  the  sharpest  pang  of  all  was  the  knowing 
that  Isaac,  so  pure,  so  gentle,  so  girl-like,  must  be  a  com- 
panion for  reckless,  swearing,  gambling  Bill,  ajid  for  a  time 
she  could  not  quite  forgive  her  youngest  born  that  he  had 
not  been  just  two  inches  taller.  Blind,  ignorant  Widow 
Simms,  the  hour  will  come  when,  on  her  bended  knees, 
she'll  thank  the  oyer-ruling  hand  which  kept  her  boy 
from  growing  just  two  inches  taller  ! 

Onward,  still  onward  they  moved,  until  they  turned 
the  corner  and  paused  before  the  depot. 

A  Httle  apart  from  the  rest  George  Graham  stood, 
wishing  that  the  cars  would  come,  and  building  airy- 
castles  of  what  would  be  when  he  returned,  covered  with 
laurels,  as  he  was  sure  to  do  if  only  opportunities  were 
offered.  He  would  distinguish  himself,  he  thought,  with 
many  a  brave  deed,  so  that  the  jDaj^ers  would  talk  of  him 
as  a  gallant  hero,  and  when  he  came  back  to  Rockland, 
the  people  would  come  out  to  meet  him,  a  denser  crowd 
than  was  assembled  now.  Their  faces  would  not  then 
be  so  sad,  for  they  would  come  to  do  him  honor,  and  in 
fancy  he  heard  the  stirring  notes  of  the  martial  music, 
and  saw  the  smile  of  joy  steal  over  the  weather-beaten 
features  of  the  leader  of  the  band,  the  man  with  the 
jammed  white  hat,  as  he  fifed  that  welcome  home.  There 
would  be  carriages  there,  too,  more  than  now,  and  maybe 
there  would  be  a  cannage  expressly  for  him,  and  the 
dreamer  saw  the  long  procession  moving  down  the  street, 
— saw  the  little  boys  on  the  walk,  the  women  at  the 
doors,  and  heard  the  peal  of  the  village  bells.  It  would 
be  gi-and,  he  thought,  if  he  could  have  a  crown,  just  as 


aHE  DEPARTUKE.  49 

the  Roman  Tictors  used  to  do, — it  would  please  Annie 
so  much  to  see  him  thus  triumphant.  She  would  not 
come  up  to  the  depot,  he  knew.  She  would  rather  be 
alone  when  she  met  him,  while  he,  too,  would  prefer  that 
all  those  people  should  not  be  looking  on  when  he  kissed 
his  Httle  wife.  Just  then  the  train  appeared,  and  the 
confusion  became  greater  as  the  crowd  drew  nearer  to- 
gether, and  the  man  with  the  jammed  white  hat  who  was 
to  fife  George's  welcome  home,  redoubled  his  exertions, 
and  tried  his  best  to  drown  his  own  emotions  in  the  harsh 
sounds  he  made.  But  above  the  fife's  shrill  scream, 
above  the  bass  drum's  beat,  and  above  the  engine's  hiss, 
was  heard  the  sound  of  waihng,  as  one  by  one  the  Eock- 
land  volunteers  stepped  aboard  the  train. 

Bill  was  the  last  to  go,  for  as  a  parting  act  he  had  fired 
the  old  cannon,  which  almost  from  time  immemorial  had 
heralded  to  Bockland's  sleeping  citizens  that  twelve 
o'clock  had  struck  and  it  was  Independence  day.  Some 
said  it  was  no  good  omen  that  the  worn-out  gun  burst  in 
twain  froin  the  heavy  charge  with  which  Bill  had  seen 
fit  to  load  it,  but  Bill  cared  not  for  omens,  and  with  three 
cheers  and  a  tiger  for  Uncle  Sam,  he  jumped  upon  the 
platform  just  as  the  final  all  aboard  was  shouted. 

There  was  a  ringing  of  the  bell,  a  sudden  puffing  of  the 
engine,  a  straining  of  machinery,  a  sweeping  backward 
of  the  wreaths  of  smoke,  and  then,  where  so  lately  one 
hundred  soldiers  had  been,  there  was  nothing  left  save 
an  open  space  of  frozen  ground  and  iron  tails,  as  cold 
and  as  empty  as  the  hearts  of  those  who  watched  until 
the  last  curling  ring  of  vapor  died  amid  the  eastern 
woods,  and  then  went  sadly  back  to  the  homes  left  so 
desolate. 


50  ROSE  MATHEK. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

WILL   AND    BROTHER   TOM. 

LETTER  from  brother  Tom,— I  am  so  glad. 
It's  an  age  since  he  wrote,  and  I've  been  dying 
to  hear  from  home.  Dear  old  Tom  !'*  and  drop- 
ing  parasol  in  one  place,  gloves  in  another,  and  shawl  in 
another.  Rose  Mather,  who  had  just  come  in  from  shop- 
ing,  seized  the  letter  her  husband  handed  her,  and  seating 
herseK  upon  an  ottoman  near  the  window,  began  to  read 
without  obser\ing  that  it  was  dated  at  Washington  instead 
of  Boston,  as  usual. 

Gradually,  however,  there  came  a  shadow  over  her 
face,  and  her  husband  saw  the  tears  gathering  slowly  in 
her  eyes,  and  dropping  upon  the  letter  she  had  been 
"  dying  to  get." 

"  "WTiat  is  it,  Rose  ?"  Mr.  Mather  asked,  as  a  sob  met 
his  ear. 

"  Oh,  WiU,"  and  Rose  cried  outright,  "I  didn't  believe 
Tom  would  do  that !  I  thought  people  like  him  never 
went  to  the  war.  I  'most  know  he'll  be  killed.  Oh, 
dear,  dear.  What  shall  I  do  ?"  and  Rose  hid  her  face  in 
the  lap  of  her  husband,  who  fondly  caressed  her  chest- 
nut hair  as  he  replied, 

"  You'll  bear  it  like  a  brave  New  England  woman.  We 
need  just  such  men  as  your  brother  Tom,  and  I  never  re- 
spected him  one  half  so  much  as  now  that  he  has  shown 
how  truly  noble  he  is.  He  was  greatly  opposed  to  Liin- 
coln,  you  know,  and  worked  hard  to  defeat  him;  but  now 
that  our  country  is  in  danger,  he,  hke  a  time  patriot,  has 
thrown  aside  aU  poHtical  feeling  and  gone  to  the  rescue. 
I  honor  him  for  it,  and  may  success  attend  him,'* 


WILL   AND   BROTHER  TOM.  51 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Rose,  as  a  new  idea  struck  her, 
"  but  what  will  his  Southern  friends  think  of  him  ?  and 
he  has  got  a  heap  of  them.  There  are  the  Bimeys  and 
Franklins  from  New  Orleans,  the  Richardsons  in  Mobile, 
and  those  nice  people  in  Charleston, — what  will  they  say 
when  they  hear  he  has  taken  up  arms  against  them  ?  and 
he  always  used  to  quarrel  so  with  those  stiff  Abohtionists 
in  Boston,  when  they  said  the  Southerners  had  no  right 
to  their  slaves.  Tom  insisted  they  had,  and  that  the  North 
was  meddling  with  what  was  none  of  its  business,  and 
now  he's  turned  abolitionist,  and  joined  too, — dear, 
dear." 

Mr.  Mather  smiled  at  Rose's  reasoning,  and  after  a  mo- 
ment, repHed,  "  I  have  no  idea  that  Tom  has  changed  his 
mind  in  the  least  with  regard  to  the  negroes,  or  that  he 
loves  his  Southern  friends  one  whit  the  less  than  when 
defending  them  from  abuse.  Negroes  and  Southern  pro- 
cHvities  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  A  blow  has  been 
struck  at  the  very  heart  of  our  Union,  and  Tom  feels  it 
his  duty  to  resent  it.  It's  just  like  this:  suppose  you,  in 
a  pet,  were  trying  to  scratch  your  mother's  eyes  out,  and 
Tom  should  try  to  prevent  it.  Would  you  think  him 
false  to  you,  because  he  took  the  part  of  his  mother? 
Would  you  not  rather  respect  him  far  more  than  if  he 
stood  quietly  by  and  saw  you  fight  it  out  ?" 

"  It  is  not  very  likely  I  should  try  to  scratch  out  moth- 
er's eyes,"  said  Rose,  half  laughing  at  her  husband's 
odd  comparison,  and  adding,  after  a  moment,  "I  don't 
see  how  folks  can  fight  and  love  each  other  too." 

Mr.  Mather  didn't  quite  see  it  either,  and  without  di- 
rectly replying  to  Rose,  he  asked,  by  way  of  diverting 
her  mind  from  the  subject  of  her  brother's  volunteering, 
if  she  noticed  what  Tom  said  about  the  Rockland  Com- 
pany in  general,  and  George  Graham  and  Isaac  Simms  in 
particular  ? 


52  ROSE  MATHER. 

This  reminded  Rose  of  Annie,  who  had  been  ill  most 
of  the  time  since  her  husband's  departure. 

"  I  meant  to  have  called  on  Mrs.  Graham  right  away," 
she  said.  "  The  poor  creature  has  been  so  sick,  they  say, 
but  would  not  let  them  send  for  George,  because  it  was 
his  duty  to  stay  where  he  was.  I'd  hke  to  see  duty  or 
anything  else  make  me  willing  to  part  with  you.  I  don't 
beheve  IMrs.  Graham  loves  her  husband  as  I  do  you,  or 
she  would  never  consent  to  be  left  alone,"  and  Rose 
nestled  closer  to  her  husband,  who  could  not  find  cour- 
age to  tell  her  what  he  meant  to  do  when  he  handed  her 
Tom's  letter.  It  would  be  too  much  for  her  to  bear  at 
once,  he  thought,  as  he  saw  how  greatly  she  was  pained 
because  her  brother  had  joined  the  army,  and  was  even 
then  in  Washington. 

To  Rose  it  was  some  consolation  that  Tom  was  captain 
of  his  company,  and  that  his  soldiers  were  taken  from 
the  finest  families  in  Boston.  This  was  far  better  than 
if  he  had  gone  as  a  private,  which  of  course  he  would  not 
do.  He  was  too  proud  for  that,  and  she  could  never  have 
forgiven  him  the  disgrace.  StiU,  viewed  in  any  light,  it 
was  very  sad,  for  Tom  had  been  to  Rose  more  like  a 
father  than  a  brother.  He  was  the  pride,  the  head  of 
the  Carleton  family,  upon  whom  herself  and  mother  had 
leaned,  the  one  since  the  day  of  her  widowhood,  and  the 
other  since  she  could  remmeber.  He  it  was  who  had 
petted  and  caressed,  and  spoilt  her  up  to  the  Very  hour 
when,  at  the  altar,  he  had  given  her  away  to  Will.  He 
it  was,  too,  who  had  been  the  arbiter  of  all  the  childish 
differences  which  had  arisen  between  herself  and  Jimmie, 
teasing,  naughty  Jimmie,  wandering  now  no  one  knew 
where,  if  indeed  he  were  aHve.  And  at  the  thought  of 
Jimmie,  with  his  saucy  eyes  and  handsome  face,  her  tears 
flowed  afresh.     Wliat  if  he  were  living  and  should  join 


WILL  AND  BROTHER  TOM.  53 

the  army,  like  Tom  ?  It  would  be  more  than  she  could 
bear,  and  for  a  long  time  after  her  husband  left  her,  Rose 
sat  weeping  over  the  picture  she  drew  of  both  her  broth- 
ers slain  on  some  bloody  battle-field.  The  shadow  of  war 
was  beginning  to  enfold  her,  and  brought  with  it  a  new 
and  strange  sympathy  for  those  who,  hke  herself,  had 
brothers  in  the  army. 

Again  remembering  Annie  Graham,  she  sprang  up,  ex- 
claiming to  herself, 

"  m  go  this  very  afternoon.  She'll  be  so  glad  to  know 
what  Tom  thinks  of  George !"  and  ere  long  Rose  was  pick- 
ing her  way  daintily  through  the  narrow  street  which  led 
to  the  cottage  in  the  Hollow.  It  was  superior  to  most  of 
the  dweUings  upon  that  street,  and  Rose  was  struck  at 
once  with  the  air  of  neatness  and  thrift  apparent  in  every- 
thing around  it,  from  the  nicely  painted  fence  to  the  lit- 
tle garden  with  its  plats  of  flowers  just  budding  into 
beauty. 

"  They  have  seen  better  days,  I  am  sure,  or  else  Mrs. 
Graham's  social  position  was  above  her  husband's,"  was 
Rose's  mental  comment,  as  she  hfted  the  gate  latch  and 
passed  up  the  narrow  walk,  catching  a  ghmpse,  through 
the  open  window,  of  a  sweet,  pale  face,  and  of  a  thick, 
stout  figure,  flying  through  the  opposite  door,  as  if  anx- 
ious to  avoid  being  seen. 

Poor  Annie  had  been  very  sick,  and  more  than  once 
the  physician  who  attended  her  had  suggested  sending 
for  her  husband,  but  Annie,  though  missing  him  sadly, 
and  longing  for  him  more  than  any  one  could  guess,  al- 
ways opposed  it,  begging  of  Widow  Simms,  who  of  her 
own  accord  went  to  nurse  her,  not  to  write  anything  which 
would  alarm  him  in  the  least.  So  George,  ever  hopeful, 
ever  looking  on  the  sunny  side,  thought  of  his  blue-eyed 
wife  as  a  little  bit  sick,  and  nervous  it  might  be,  but  not 


64  BOSE  MATHER. 

dangerous  at  all,  and  wrote  to  her  kind,  loving,  cheering 
letters,  -wliicli  did  much  to  keep  her  courage  from  dyiag 
"within  her.  Annie  was  better  now, — was  just  in  that 
state  of  convalescence  when  she  foimd  it  very  hard  to 
lie  all  day  long,  watching  Widow  Simms  as  she  bustled 
out  and  in,  setting  the  chairs  in  a  row  with  their  six 
backs  square  against  the  wall,  and  their  six  fronts  oppo- 
site the  table,  stand  and  bureau,  also  in  a  row.  She  was 
just  wishing  some  one  would  come,  when  the  swinging  of 
the  gate  and  the  widow's  exclamation,  "  Oh,  the  land,  if 
that  stuck  up  thing  ain't  comin',"  announced  the  approach 
of  Rose  Mather. 

"I'll  make  myself  missin',  for  mercy  knows  I  don't 
wan't  to  hear  none  of  your  secession  stuff.  It  fairly  makes 
my  blood  bile!"  was  the  widow's  next  comment;  and 
gathering  up  her  knitting  she  hurried  into  the  kitchen, 
leaving  Annie  to  receive  her  visitor  alone. 

Not  waiting  for  her  knock  to  be  answered,  Rose  en- 
tered at  the  open  door,  and  advanced  at  once  into  the 
room  where  Annie  was,  her  fair  hair  pushed  back  from 
her  forehead,  her  blue  eyes  unusually  briUiant,  and  her 
face  scarcely  less  white  than  the  pillow  on  which  it  lay. 

Rose  had  an  eye  for  the  beautiful,  and  after  the  lii-st 
words  of  greeting  were  over,  she  broke  out  in  her  impul- 
sive way — 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Graham,  how  handsome  you  are  looking  I 
just  like  the  apple  blossoms.  I  wish  your  husband  could 
see  you  now.  I'm  sure  he  wouldn't  stay  there  another 
hour.     I  think  it's  cruel  in  him,  don't  you  ?" 

The  tears  came  at  once  to  Annie's  eyes,  and  her  voice 
was  very  low  as  she  replied: 

"  George  does  not  know  how  sick  I  have  been,  neither 
do  I  wish  to  have  him.  It  would  only  make  his  biu'den 
heavier  to  bear,  and  I  try  to  care  more  for  his  comfort 
than  my  own.'* 


WILL  AND  BEOTHER  TOM.  55 

Tliis  was  a  phase  of  unselfishness  wholly  new  to  Rose, 
and  for  an  instant  she  was  silent,  then  remembering 
Tom's  letter,  she  seated  herself  upon  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
and  throwing  aside  her  bonnet,  took  the  letter  from  her 
pocket,  telling  Annie  as  she  did  so  that  she,  too,  was  now 
interested  in  the  war,  and  in  every  one  whose  friends  had 
gone. 

"  I  never  knew  how  it  felt  before,"  she  said  •  "  and 
I've  made  a  heaj)  of  silly  speeches,  I  know.  Don't  you 
remember  that  time  in  the  Hall,  when  I  talked  about 
your  husband  being  shot  ?  I  am  sorry,  but  I  do  think 
he's  more  likely  to  be  picked  off  than  Tom,  who  is  not 
nearly  as  tall.  You  are  faint,  ain't  you  ?"  she  added,  as 
she  saw  how  deathly  pale  Annie  grew,  while  the  drops 
of  perspiration  stood  thickly  about  her  lips. 

"Simpleton,  simpleton!"  muttered  Widow Simms,  hst- 
ening  through  the  keyhole  in  the  kitchen,  while  Annie 
whispered : 

"Please  don't  talk  that  way,  Mrs.  Mather.  I  know 
George  is  very  tall,  but  unless  God  wills  it  otherwise,  the 
bullets  will  pass  by  him  as  well  as  others." 

Eose  saw  she  had  done  mischief  again,  by  her  thought- 
less way  of  speaking,  and  eager  to  repair  the  wrong,  she 
bent  over  Annie  and  said: 

"  I  am  sorry.  I'm  always  doing  something  foolish. 
You  are  faint;  shan't  I  tell  the  servant  to  bring  you  some 
water  ?  She's  in  the  kitchen,  I  suppose,"  and  ere  Annie 
could  explain,  Eose  had  darted  into  the  neat  little  kitch- 
en where  Widow  Simms  was  stooping  over  the  store  and 
kindhng  a  fire,  with  which  to  make  the  evening  tea. 

"Girl,  girl,  Mrs.  Graham  wants  some  water.  Hurry 
and  bring  it  quick,  will  you?" 

Eose  called  out  a  little  peremptorily,  for  there  was 
something  rather  suggestive  of   defiance  in  the  square, 


66  ROSE  MATHER. 

straight  back  which  never  moved  a  particle  in  answer  to 
the  command. 

"  Deaf  or  hateful,"  was  Rose's  mental  comment,  and  as 
it  might  possibly  be  the  foiTaer,  she  wished  she  knew  the 
girl's  name,  as  that  would  be  more  apt  to  attract  her. 
**Most  every  Irish  girl  is  Bridget,"  she  thought  to  her- 
self, "  and  I  guess  this  one  is.  Any  way  she  acts  like  the 
girl  that  used  to  order  mother  out  doors,  so  I'll  venture 
upon  that  name." 

"Bridget,  Bridget!"  and  this  time  the  voice  was  de- 
cidedly authoritative  in  its  tone,  but  what  more  Hose 
might  have  added  was  cut  short  by  the  widow,  who 
dropped  the  griddle  with  a  bang,  and  turning  sharply 
round,  repUed: 

"  There's  no  Bridget  here,  and  if  it's  me  you  mean,  I 
am  Mrs.  Joseph  Simms  /" 

Rose  had  good  reason  for  remembering  Mrs.  Simms, 
and  coloring  crimson,  she  tried  to  apologize: 

"I  beg  your  pardon;  I  did  not  see  your  face.  I  sup- 
posed evei-ybody  kept  a  girl;  and  your  back  looked 
like " 

"Don't  make  the  matter  any  worse,"  interrupted 
the  widow,  smiling  in  spite  of  herself  at  Rose's  attempt 
to  excuse  her  blunder.  "Ton  thought  from  my  dress 
that  I  was  a  hu-ed  girl,  and  so  I  was  in  my  younger  days, 
and  I  don't  feel  none  the  wus  for  it  neither.  Miss  Gra- 
ham's faint,  is  she  ?  She's  had  time  to  get  over  it,  I 
think.  Here's  the  water,"  and  filling  a  gourd  shell  she 
handed  it  to  Rose,  who,  in  her  admiration  of  the  (to  her) 
novel  drinking  cup,  came  near  forgetting  Annie. 

But  Annie  did  not  care,  for  the  rencoimter  between 
the  widow  and  Rose  had  done  her  quite  as  much  good 
as  the  water  could,  and  Rose  found  her  laughing  the  first 
really  hearty  laugh  she  had  enjoyed  since  George  went 
away. 


WILL  AND  BKOTHER  TOM.  57 

"It*s  just  like  me,"  Kose  said,  as  she  resumed  her  seat 
by  Annie,  listening  intently  while  she  told  how  kind  the 
Widow  Simms  had  been,  coming  every  day  to  stay  with 
her,  and  only  leaving  her  at  night  because  Annie  insisted 
that  she  should. 

"  I  hke  Mrs.  Simms !"  was  Eose's  vehement  exclama- 
tion; "  and  I  am  glad  Tom  said  what  he  did  about  Isaac, 
who  used  to  saw  our  wood.  I  did  not  tell  you,  did  I  ? 
And  there's  something  real  nice  about  your  husband,  too. 
I  mean  to  call  her  in  while  I  read  it,"  and  Kose  ran  out 
to  the  wood-shed,  where  the  widow  was  now  splitting  a 
pine  board  for  kindling,  the  newspaper  she  at  first  had 
used,  having  burned  entirely  out. 

Rose's  manner  and  voice  were  very  conciliatory  as  she 
said: 

"  Please,  IVIrs.  Simms,  come  in  and  listen  while  I  read 
what  brother  Tom  has  written  about  Mr.  Graham  and 
your  Isaac, — something  perfectly  splendid.  Tom  has 
volunteered  and  gone  to  Washington,  you  know." 

It  was  strange  how  those  few  words  changed  the 
widow's  opinion  of  Rose.  The  fact  that  Thomas  Carle- 
ton,  whom  the  Rockland  people  fancied  was  a  Secession- 
ist, had  joined  the  Federal  army,  did  much  toward  effect- 
ing this  change,  but  not  so  much  as  the  fact  that  he  had 
actually  noticed  her  boy,  and  spoken  of  him  in  a  letter. 

"  Miss  Mather  ain't  so  bad  after  all,"  she  thought,  and 
striking  her  axe  into  the  log,  she  followed  Rose  to  the 
sitting-room,  listening  eagerly  while  she  read  the  few 
sentences  pertaining  to  George  and  Isaac.  They  were 
as  follows: 

"  By  the  way,  Will,  I  find  there's  a  company  here  from 
Rockland.  Fine  appearing  fellows,  too,  most  of  them 
are,  and  under  good  discipline.  I  am  especially  pleased 
3* 


58  EOSE  MATHER. 

■with  the  second  lieutenant.  He's  a  magnificent  looking 
man,  and  attracts  attention  wherever  he  goes." 

"  That's  George,  you  know,"  and  Bose,  quite  as  much 
pleased  as  Annie  herself,  nodded  toward  the  latter, 
whose  pale  cheek  flushed  with  pride  at  hearing  her  hus- 
band thus  spoken  of  by  Rose  Mather's  brother. 

"Yes,  but  Isaac,"  interrupted  the  widow.  "Where- 
abouts does  he  come  in  ?" 

"  Oh,  pretty  soon  I'll  get  to  him.  There's  more  about 
George  yet,"  answered  Rose,  as  she  resumed  her  read- 
ing. 

"I  had  the  pleasure  of  talking  with  him  yesterday, 
and  found  him  very  intelhgent  and  sensible.  If  we  had 
more  men  like  him,  success  would  be  sure  and  speedy. 
He  has  about  him  a  gi-eat  deal  of  fun  and  humor,  which 
go  far  toward  keeping  up  the  spirits  of  his  company, 
and  some  of  the  poor  fellows  need  it  sadly.  There's  a 
young  boy  in  the  ranks,  Isaac  Simms,  who  interests  me 
greatly." 

"  Oh-h !"  and  the  widow  drew  a  long  sigh  as  Rose  con- 
tinued: 

"  I  wonder  he  was  ever  suffered  to  come,  he  seems  so 
young,  so  girl-like  and  so  gentle.  Still  he  does  a  great 
deal  of  good,  Lieut.  Graham  tells  me,  by  visiting  the 
sick  and  sharing  with  them  any  dehcacy  he  happens  to 
have.  He's  rather  homesick,  I  imagine,  for  when  I  asked 
him  if  he  had  a  mother,  his  chin  quivered  in  a  moment, 
and  I  saw  the  tears  standing  in  his  eyes.  Poor  boy,  I 
can't  accoimt  for  the  interest  I  feel  in  him.  Heaven 
grant  that  if  we  come  to  open  fight  he  may  not  fall  a 
victim." 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  boy,  my  darling  boy,"  and  burying  her 
face  in  her  hard  hands,  the  widow  sobbed  aloud.  "I 
thank  you,  IVIiss  Mather,  for  reading  me  that,"  she  said, 


WILL  AND  BROTHER  TOM.  69 

"  and  I  thank  your  brother  for  writing  it.  Tell  him  so, 
■wiU  you.  Tell  him  I'm  nothing  but  a  cross,  sour-grained, 
snappish  old  woman,  but  I  have  a  mother's  heart,  and  I 
bless  him  for  speaking  so  kindly  of  my  boy." 

Rose's  tears  fell  fast  as  she  folded  up  the  letter,  and 
Annie's  kept  company  with  them.  There  was  a  bond  of 
sympathy  now  between  the  three,  as  they  talked  together 
of  the  soldiers,  Mrs.  Simms  and  Annie  devising  various 
methods  by  which  they  might  be  benefited,  and  Rose 
wishing  she,  too,  could  do  something  for  them. 

"But  I  can't,"  she  said,  despairingly.  "I  never  did 
anybody  any  real  good  in  all  my  life, — only  bothered 
them,"  and  Rose  sighed  as  she  thought  how  useless  and 
aimless  was  her  present  mode  of  life. 

"  You'U  learn  by  and  by,"  said  the  widow,  in  a  tone 
unusually  soft  for  her;  then,  as  if  the  sock  she  held  in 
her  lap  had  suggested  the  idea,  she  continued,  "  Can 
you  knit  ?" 

Rose  shook  her  head. 

"  Nor  your  mother,  neither  ?'* 

Again  Rose  shook  her  head,  feehng  quite  ashamed 
that  she  should  lack  this  accomplishment. 

"  WeU,"  the  widow  went  on,  "  'taint  much  use  to  learn 
now.  'Twould  take  a  year  to  git  one  stocking  done,  but 
if  when  winter  comes,  that  brother  of  yours  wants  socks 
and  mittens,  or  the  like  of  that,  tell  him  I'll  knit  'em  for 
him.' 

"Oh,  you  are  so  kind!'*  cried  Rose,  thinking  to  her- 
self how  she'd  send  Widow  Simms  some  pineapple  pre- 
seiwes,  such  as  ^he  had  with  dessert  that  day. 

They  grew  to  liking  each  other  very  fast  after  this, 
and  Rose  staid  until  the  little  round  table  was  arranged 
for  tea  and  rolled  to  Annie's  bedside.  There  was  no 
plate  for  Rose,  the  widow  having  deemed  it  preposterous 


60  ROSE  MATHER. 

that  she  should  stay,  but  the  table  looked  so  cosy,  with 
its  tiny  black  teapot,  and  its  nicely  buttered  toast, 
that  Rose  invited  herself,  with  such  a  pretty,  patronizing 
way,  that  the  widow  failed  to  see  the  condescension 
it  imphed.  It  did  not,  however,  escape  Annie's  ob- 
servation, but  she  could  not  feel  angry  with  the  little 
lady,  touching  her  bone-handled  knife  as  if  she  were 
afraid  of  it,  and  looking  round  in  quest  of  the  napkin 
she  failed  to  find,  for  Widow  Simms  had  banished 
napkins  from  the  table  as  superfluous  articles,  which 
answered  no  earthly  purpose, save  the  putting  an  extra 
four  cents  into  the  pocket  of  the  washerwoman,  Harry 
Baker's  mother. 

It  was  growing  late,  and  the  sunset  shadows  were  al- 
ready creeping  into  the  HoUow  when  Hose  bade  Annie 
good-bye,  promising  to  come  again  ere  long,  and  won- 
dering, as  she  took  her  homeward  way,  whence  came  the 
calm,  quiet  peace  which  made  Annie  Graham  so  happy, 
even  though  her  husband  were  far  away  in  the  midst  of 
danger  and  death.  Eose  had  heard  that  Annie  was  a 
Christian,  and  so  were  many  others  whom  she  knew,  but 
they  were  much  like  herself, — good,  well-meaning  people, 
amiable,  and  submissive  when  everything  went  to  suit 
them,  but  let  their  husbands  once  join  the  ai'my  and  they 
would  make  quite  as  much  fuss  as  she,  who  did  not  pro- 
fess to  be  anything.  And  then,  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life.  Rose  wished  she,  too,  could  learn  fi'om  Annie's 
teacher,  and  so  have  something  to  sustain  her  in  case 
her  husband  should  go.  But  he  wouldn't  go, — and  if 
he  did,  all  the  rehgion  in  the  world  could  not  make  her  re- 
signed,— and  the  tears  sprang  to  Rose's  eyes  as  she  hurried 
up  the  handsome  walk  to  the  piazza,  where  Will  sat  smo- 
king his  cigar  in  the  hazy  twilight.  She  told  him  where 
she  had  been,  and    then  sitting    upon  his    knee  told 


WILL  AND  BROTHER  TOM.  ^ 

him  of  Annie,  wishing  she  could  be  like  her,  and  asking 
if  he  did  not  wish  so  too. 

Will  made  no  direct  reply.  His  thoughts  were  evi- 
dently elsewhere,  and  after  a  few  minutes  he  said,  hesi- 
tatingly: 

"  Would  it  break  my  darling's  heart  if  I  should  join 
Tom  at  Washington?" 

There  was  a  cry  of  horror,  and  Eose  hid  her  face  in 
her  husband's  bosom. 

"Oh,  WiU,  Will,  you  shan't,  you  can't,  you  mustn't 
and  won't!  I  didn't  know  you  ever  thought  of  such  a 
cruel  thing.  Don't  you  love  me  any  more  ?  I'U  try  to 
do  better,  I  certainly  wiU  1"  and  Eose  nestled  closer  to 
him,  holding  his  hands  just  as  Annie  Graham  had  once 
held  her  husband's. 

"  You  could  not  be  much  better,  neither  could  I  love 
you  more  than  I  do  now,  Eosa,  darling,"  IVIr.  Mather  re- 
pHed,  kissing  her  childish  brow.  "But,  Eosa,  be  rea- 
sonable once,  and  listen  while  I  tell  you  how,  ever  since 
the  fall  of  Sumter,  I  have  thought  the  time  would  come, 
when  I  should  be  needed,  resolving,  too,  that  when  it 
came,  it  should  not  find  me  a  second  Sardanapdus  !" 

The  sudden  lifting  of  Eose's  head,  and  her  look  of  per- 
plexed inquiry,  showed  that  notwithstanding  the  fanciful 
ornament  styled  a  Diploma  lying  in  her  writing-desk,  Sar- 
danapalus  had  not  the  honor  of  being  numbered  among 
her  acquaintances.  But  her  heart  was  too  full  to  ask  an 
explanation,  and  her  husband  continued: 

"  Besides  that,  there  was  a  mutual  understanding  be- 
tween Tom  and  myself,  that  if  one  went  the  other  would, 
and  he  has  gone,— nobly  laying  aside  all  the  party  pre- 
judice which  for  a  time  influenced  his  conduct  Our 
country  needs  more  men." 

"Yes,   yes,"  gasped  Eose;    "but    more  have  gone. 


62  EOSE   MATHER. 

There's  scarcely  a  boy  left  in  town,  and  it's  just  so  every- 
where." 

Mr.  Mather  smiled  as  he  replied: 

"  I  know  the  boys  have  gone, — ^boys  whose  fair,  beard- 
less faces  should  put  to  shame  a  strong,  full-grown  man 
like  me.  And  another  class,  too,  have  gone,  our  labor- 
ing young  men,  leaving  behind  them  poverty  and  little 
helpless  children,  whereas  I  have  nothing  of  that  kind 
for  an  excuse." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  had  a  dozen  children,  if  that  would  keep 
you !"  cried  Eose,  the  insane  idea  flashing  upon  her  that 
she  would  at  once  adopt  a  score  or  more  of  those  she 
had  seen  playing  in  the  muddy  Hollow  that  afternoon. 

Mr.  Mather  smiled,  and  continued  : 

"  Sup23ose  you  try  and  accustom  yourself  to  the  idea 
of  Hving  a  while  without  me.  I  shall  not  die  until  my 
appointed  time,  and  shall  undoubtedly  come  back  again. 
Don't  you  see  ?" 

"  No,  Kose  didn't.  Her  heart  was  too  full  of  pain  to 
see  how  going  to  war  was  just  as  sure  a  method  of  pro- 
longing one's  life  as  staying  at  home,  and  she  sobbed 
passionately,  one  moment  accusing  her  husband  of  not 
loving  her  as  he  used  to.  and  the  next  begging  of  him  to 
abandon  his  wild  project. 

]\Ir.  Mather  was  a  man  of  firm  decision,  and  long  be- 
fore he  broached  the  subject  to  his  "v^ife,  his  mind 
had  been  made  up  that  his  countiy  called  for  him, — ^not 
for  somebody  else, — but  for  him  personally;  that  if  the 
rebellion  were  to  be  crushed  out,  men  of  wealth  and  in- 
fluence must  help  to  crush  it,  not  alone  by  remaining  at 
home  and  urging  others  on,  though  this  were  an  import- 
ant pai*t,  but  by  actually  joining  in  the  combat,  and  by 
their  presence  cheering  and  inspiring  others.  And  Mr. 
Mather  was  going,  too, — ^had,  in  fact,  ah'eady  made  ar- 


WILL  AND  BROTHER  TOM,  63 

rangements  to  that  effect,  and  neither  the  tears  nor 
entreaties  of  his  young  wife  could  avail  to  change  his 
purpose.  But  he  did  not  teU  her  so  that  night ;  he 
would  rather  come  to  it  gradually,  taking  a  different 
course  from  that  which  George  Graham  had  pursued, 
for  where  George  had  left  the  decision  wholly  to  his 
wife,  IMr.  Mather  had  taken  it  whoUy  upon  himself,  mak- 
ing it  first  and  telling  Kose  afterwards.  It  was  better 
so,  he  thought,  and  having  said  all  to  her  that  he  wished 
to  say  on  that  occasion,  he  tried  to  divert  her  mind  into 
another  channel.  But  Eose  was  not  to  be  diverted.  It 
had  come  upon  her  hke  a  thunderbolt, — the  thing  she 
so  much  dreaded, — and  she  wept  bitterly,  seeing  in  the 
future,  which  only  a  few  hours  before  looked  so  bright 
and  joyous,  nothing  but  impenetrable  gloom,  for  she  could 
read  her  husband  tolerably  weU,  and  she  intuitively  felt 
that  she  had  lost  him,— that  he  was  going  from  her, 
never  to  come  back,  she  knew.  She  should  be  a  widow 
before  she  was  nineteen,  and  the  host  of  summer  dresses 
she  meant  to  buy  when  she  went  back  to  Boston,  changed 
into  a  widow's  sombre  weeds,  as  Rose  saw  herself  arrayed 
in  the  habiliments  of  mourning.  What  a  fright  she 
looked  to  herself  in  the  widow's  cap,  with  which  her 
vivid  imagination  disfigured  her  chestnut  hair,  and  she 
shuddered  afresh  as  she  thought  how  hideous  she  was  in 
black. 

Poor,  simple  little  Bose !  And  yet  we  say  again  Rose 
was  not  a  fool^  nor  yet  an  unnatural  character.  There 
are  many,  many  like  her,  some  who  will  recognize  them- 
selves in  this  story  and  more  who  will  not.  Gay,  impul- 
sive, pleasure-seeking  creatures,  whom  fashionable  edu- 
cation and  too  indulgent  parents  have  done  their  utmost 
to  spoil,  but  who  still  possess  many  traits  of  excellence, 
needing  only  adverse  circumstances  to  mould  and  hammer 


64  ROSE  MATHER. 

them  into  the  genuine  coin  of  true-hearted  womanhood 
Such  an  one  was  Rose.  Keared  by  a  fond  mother,  petted 
by  an  older  brother,  and  teased  by  a  youuger,  flattered 
by  friend  and  foe,  and  latterly  caressed  and  worshiped 
by  a  husband,  Eose  had  come  to  think  far  too  much  oi 
her  own  importance  as  Mrs.  Rose  Mather, — nee  Miss  Rose 
Carleton,  of  Boston,  an  acknowledged  beUe,  and  leader 
of  the  ton. 

There  was  a  wide  difference  between  Rose  and  Annie 
Graham,  for  while  the  latter,  in  her  sweet  unselfishness, 
thought  only  of  her  husband's  welfare,  both  here  and 
hereafter,  Rose's  first  impulse  was  a  dread  shrinking 
from  beiag  alone,  and  her  second  a  ten-or  lest  the  years 
of  her  youth,  now  spread  out  so  invitingly  before  her, 
should  be  passed  in  secluded  widowhood,  with  nothing 
from  the  gay  world  without  wherewith  to  feed  her  vanity 
and  love  for  admiration.  Still,  beneath  Rose's  light  ex- 
terior there  was  hidden  a  mine  of  tenderness  and  love,  a 
heart  which,  when  roused  to  action,  was  capable  of 
greater,  more  heroic  deeds,  than  would  at  first  seem  pos- 
sible. And  that  heart  was  rousing,  too, — ^was  gradually 
waking  into  hfe;  but  not  all  at  once,  and  the  tears  which 
Rose  shed  the  whole  night  through  were  wrung  out 
more  from  selfishness,  perhaps,  than  from  any  higher 
feeling.  It  would  be  so  stupid  hving  there  alone  in 
Rockland.  If  she  could  only  go  to  Washington  with 
Will  it  would  not  be  half  so  bad,  but  she  could  not,  for  she 
waked  Will  up  from  a  sound  sleep  to  ask  him  if  she  might, 
and  he  had  answered  "No"  falling  away  again  to  sleep, 
and  leaving  Rose  to  wakefulness  and  tears,  unmingled 
with  any  prayer  that  the  cloud  gathering  so  fast  around 
her  might  sometime  break  in  blessings  on  her  head. 

It  was  scarcely  light  next  morning  when  Rose,  deter- 
mining to  prevail,  redoubled  her  entreaties  for  her  hus- 


WILL  AND  BROTHER  TOM.  65 

band  to  abandon  the  decision  be  now  candidly  acknow- 
ledged, but  sbe  could  not.  He  was  going  to  the  war, 
and  going  as  a  private.  Rose  almost  fainted  when  he 
told  her  this,  and  for  a  time  refused  to  be  comforted. 
She  might  learn  to  bear  it,  she  said,  if  he  were  an  officer, 
but  to  go  as  a  common  soldier,  like  those  she  worked  for 
at  the  Hall,  was  more  than  she  could  bear. 

It  was  in  vain  that  IMr.  Mather  told  her  how  only  a  few 
could  be  officers,  and  that  he  was  content  to  serve  his 
country  in  any  capacity,  leaving  the  more  lucrative  situ- 
ations to  those  who  needed  them  more.  He  did  not  tell 
her  he  had  declined  a  post  of  honor,  for  the  sake  of  one 
who  seemed  to  him  more  worthy  of  it.  He  would  rather 
this  should  reach  her  from  some  other  source,  and  ere 
the  day  was  over  it  did,  for  in  a  small  town  like  Eock- 
land  it  did  not  take  long  for  every  other  one  to  know  that 
"William  Mather  had  enlisted  as  a  private  soldier,  when 
he  might  have  been  Colonel  of  a  regiment,  had  he  not 
given  place  to  another  because  that  other  had  depending 
on  him  a  bed-ridden  mother,  a  crazy  wife,  and  six  Uttle 
helpless  children. 

How  fast  William  Mather  rose  in  the  estimation  of 
those  who,  never  having  known  him  intimately,  had 
looked  upon  him  as  a  cold,  haughty  man,  whose  loyalty 
was  somewhat  doubtful,  and  how  proud  Rose  felt,  even 
in  the  midst  of  her  tears,  as  she  heard  on  every  side  her 
husband's  praise.  Even  the  "Widow  Simms  ventured  to 
the  Mather  mansion,  telling  her  how  glad  she  was,  and 
offering  to  do  what  she  could  for  the  volunteer,  while 
Annie,  unable  to  do  anything  for  herself,  could  only  pray 
that  God  would  bring  IVIi'.  Mather  back  safely  to  the  child- 
wife,  who  was  so  bowed  down  with  gi'ief.  How  Annie 
longed  to  see  her, — and,  if  possible,  impart  to  her  some 
portion  of  the  hopeful  trust  which  kept  her   own  soul 


66  EOSE  MATHER. 

from  fainting  beneath  its  burden  of  anxious  uncertainty. 
But  the  days  passed  on,. and  Rose  came  no  more  to  the 
cottage  in  the  Hollow.  Love  for  her  husband  had  tri- 
umphed over  evei-y  other  feehng,  and  rousing  fi'om  her 
state  of  inertness,  she  busied  herself  in  doing,  or  rather 
trying  to  do,  a  thousand  httle  things  which  she  fancied 
might  add  to  Willie's  comfort  She  called  him  Willie 
now,  as  if  that  name  were  dearer,  tenderer  than  Will, 
and  the  strong  man,  every  time  he  heard  it,  felt  a  sore 
pang, — there  was  something  so  plaintive  in  the  tone,  as 
if  she  were  speaking  of  the  dead. 

It  was  a  most  beautiful  summer  day,  when  at  last  he 
left  her,  and  Rose's  heart  was  weU  nigh  bursting  with  its 
load  of  pain.  It  was  all  in  vain  that  she  said  her  usual 
form  of  prayer,  never  more  meaningless  than  now  when 
her  thoughts  were  so  wholly  absorbed  w^ith  something 
else.  She  did  not  pray  in  faith,  but  because  it  was  a 
habit  of  her  childhood,  a  something  she  rarely  omitted, 
unless  in  too  great  a  hurry.  No  wonder  then  that  she 
rose  up  from  her  devx)tion  quite  as  gi'ief-stricken  as  when 
she  first  knelt  down.  God  does  not  often  answer  what 
is  mere  hp  service,  and  Rose  was  yet  a  stranger  to 
the  prayer  which  stirs  the  heart  and  carries  power  with 
it.  The  parting  was  terrible,  and  Il^Ir.  Mather  more  than 
half  repented  when  he  saw  how  tightly  she  clung  to  his 
neck,  begging  him  to  take  her  with  him,  or  at  least  to 
send  for  her  very  soon. 

"What  shall  I  do  when  you  are  gone?  "VMiat  can  I 
do?"  she  sobbed,  and  her  husband  answered: 

"  You  can  work  for  me,  darling, — work  for  all  the  sol- 
diers.    It  will  help  divert  your  mind." 

"  I  can't  I  can't,"  was  Rose's  answer.  "  I  don't  know 
how  to  work.  Oh,  Wilhe,  Willie!  I  wish  there  wasn't 
any  war. 


JIMMIE.  67 

Willie  wished  so  too,  but  there  was  no  time  now  for 
regrets,  for  a  rumbling  in  the  distance  and  a  rising 
wreath  of  smoke  on  the  .western  plain  warned  him  not  to 
tarry  longer  if  he  would  go  that  day.  One  more  burn- 
ing kiss, — one  more  fond  pressure  of  the  wife  he  loved 
so  much, — a  few  more  whispered  words  of  hope,  and  then 
another  Eockland  volunteer  had  gone.  Gone  without 
daring  to  look  backward  to  the  httle  form  lying  just  the 
same  as  he  had  put  it  from  him,  and  yet  not  just  the 
same.  He  had  felt  it  quivering  with  anguish  when  he 
took  his  arms  away,  but  the  trembling,  quivering  motion 
was  over  now,  and  the  form  he  had  caressed  lay  motion- 
less and  still,  all  unconscious  of  the  dreary  pain  throb- 
bing in  the  heart,  and  all  unmindful  of  the  loud  hurrah 
which  greeted  WiLLiam  Mather,  as  he  stepped  upon  the 
platform  of  the  car  and  waved  his  hat  to  those  assem- 
bled there  to  see  him  off.  Bose,  who  *had  meant  at  the 
very  last  to  be  so  heroic,  so  brave,  so  worthy  the  wife  of 
a  soldier,  had  fainted. 


CHAPTER  V. 

JIMMIE. 


'HERE  were  loving  words  being  breathed 'into 
Rose's  ear,  when  she  came  back  to  conscious- 
ness, and  there  was  something  famihar  in  the 
touch  of  the  hand  bathing  her  brow,  and  smoothing  her 
tangled  hair,  but  Rose  was  too  weak  and  sick  to  notice 
who  it  was  caring  for  her  so  tenderly,  until  she  heard 
the  voice  saying  to  her: 


bo  EOSE   MATHER. 

"Is  my  daughter  better  ?" 

And  then  she  threw  herseK  with  a  wild  scream  of  joy 
into  the  arms  which  had  cradled  her  babyhood,  sobbing 
piteously : 

"  Oh,  mother,  mother,  WiUie  has  gone  to  the  war  1 
WiUie  has  gone  to  *the  war !" 

It  was  very  strange.  Rose  thought,  that  her  mother's 
tears  should  flow  so  fast,  and  her  face  wear  so  sad  an 
expression  just  because  of  Will,  who  was  nothing  but 
her  son-in-law.  Then  it  occurred  to  her  that  Tom  might 
be  the  occasion  of  her  sadness,  but  when  she  spoke  of 
him,  asking  why  her  mother  had  not  prevailed  on  him 
to  stay  at  home,  IVIrs.  Carle  ton  answered,  promptly: 

"  I  never  loved  him  one-half  so  well,  as  on  that  night 
when  he  told  me  he  had  volunteered.  He  would  be  un- 
worthy of  the  Carleton  blood  he  bears,  were  he  to  hesi- 
tate a  moment !"  and  the  eye  of  the  brave  New  England 
matron  kindled  as  she  added:  "If  I  had  twenty  sons,  I 
would  rather  all  should  die  on  the  Federal  battle  field 
than  have  one  turn  traitor  to  his  country  !  Oh,  Jimmie, 
Jimmie,  my  poor  misguided  boy  !" 

It  was  a  piteous  cry  which  came  from  the  depths  of 
that  mother's  aching  heart, — a  cry  so  full  of  anguish  that 
Rose  was  startled,  and  asked  in  much  alarm  what  it  was 
about  Jimmie.  Had  she  heard  from  him,  and  was  he 
really  dead  ? 

"No,  Rose,"  and  in  the  mother's  voice  there  was  a 
hard,  bitter  tone.  "  No,  not  dead,  but  better  so,  than 
what  he  is.  Oh,  I  would  so  much  rather  he  had  died 
when  a  little,  innocent  child,  than  Hve  to  bear  the  name 
he  bears !" 

"  What  name,  mother  ?  What  has  Jimmie  done  ?  Do 
tell  me,  you  frighten  me,  you  look  so  white !"  and  Rose 
clung  closer  to  her  mother,  who,  with  quivering  lip  and 


jiMMiE.  ei» 

faltering  voice,  told  her  how  recreant  runaway  Jimmie 
had  joined  the  Confederate  army  under  Beauregard,  and 
was  probably  then  marching  on  to  Washington  to  meet 
her  other  son,  in  deadly  conflict,  it  might  be;  his  hand, 
the  very  one,  perhaps,  to  speed  the  fratricidal  bullet 
which  should  shed  a  brother's  life-blood ! 

No  wonder  that  her  heart  grew  faint  when  she  thought 
of  her  boy  as  a  Rebel, — aye,  a  rebel  of  ten  times  deeper 
dye  than  if  he  had  been  bom  of  Southern  blood,  and 
reared  on  Southern  soil,  for  the  roof-tree  which  sheltered 
his  childhood  was  almost  beneath  the  shadow  of  Bunker 
Hill's  monument,  and  many  an  hour  had  he  sported  at  its 
base,  playing  directly  above  the  graves  of  those  brave 
men  who  fell  that  awful  day  when  the  fierce  thunders  of 
war  shook  the  hills  of  Boston,  and  echoed  across  the 
smoky  waters  of  the  bay.  Far  up  the  lofty  tower,  too, 
as  high  as  he  could  reach,  his  name  was  written  ^dth  his 
own  boyish  hand,  and  the  mother  had  read  it  there  since 
receiving  the  shameful  letter  whicTi  told  of  his  disgrace. 
Chmbing  up  the  weary,  winding  flight  of  stairs,  she  had 
looked  through  bhnding  tears  upon  that  name, — James 
Madison  Carleton, — ^^half  hoping  it  had  been  erased,  it 
seemed  so  like  a  mockery  to  have  it  there  on  Freedom's 
Monument,  and  know  that  he  who  bore  it  was  a  traitor  to 
his  country.  Yet  there  it  was,  just  as  he  left  it  years  ago, 
and  with  a  blush  of  shame  the  mother  crossed  it  out,  just 
as  she  fain  would  have  crossed  out  his  sin  could  that  have 
been.  But  it  could  not.  She  loiew  that  Jimmie  was  in 
the  Southern  army,  and  not  wishing  to  speak  of  it  at 
home,  where  he  already  bore  no  envied  name,  she  had 
come  for  sympathy  to  her  only  daughter;  and  it  was  well 
for  both  she  did,  for  it  helj)ed  to  divert  Bose's  grief  into 
a  new  and  different  channel;  to  set  her  right  on  many 


70  ROSE  MATHER. 

points,  and  gradually  to  obliterate  all  marks  of  -what  some 
had  called  Secession. 

Tom  had  been  her  pride;  the  brother  she  honored  and 
feared,  while  Jimmie,  nearer  her  age,  was  more  a  com- 
panion of  her  childhood;  the  one  who  teased  and  petted 
her  by  turns,  one  day  putting  angle  worms  in  her  bosom 
just  to  hear  her  scream,  and  the  next  spending  all  his 
pocket-money  to  buy  her  the  huge  wax  doll  she  saw  in 
the  shop  window,  down  on  Washington  street,  and  cov- 
eted so  badly.  Such  were  some  of  Rose's  reminiscences 
of  Jimmie,  and  while  time  had  softened  do^vn  the  horrid 
sensations  she  experienced  when  she  felt  the  cold  worms 
crawling  on  her  neck,  it  had  not  destroyed  the  doll,  the 
handsomest  she  had  ever  owned,  nor  made  her  cease  to 
love  the  teasing  boy.  She  could  not  feel  just  as  her 
mother  did  about  him,  for  she  had  not  her  mother's 
strong,  patriotic  feehng,  but  her  tears  flowed  none  the 
less,  while  she,  too,  half  wished  him  lying  beneath  the 
Bummer  grass,  in  beautiful  Mt.  Auburn. 

"  How  did  you  hear  from  him  ?"  she  asked,  when  her 
first  burst  of  grief  was  over,  and  her  mother  replied  by 
taking  out  a  letter,  on  which  Rose  recognized  her  brother's 
handwriting. 

"  He  sent  me  this,"  Mrs.  Carleton  said,  and  tearing 
open  the  letter,  she  read  it  aloud  to  Rose. 

"Richmond,  Va.,  June,  1861. 
**Deae  Mothee:  Pray  don't  thiiik  you've  seen  a  gliost  when  you 
recognize  my  -writing.  You  thought  me  dead,  I  suppose,  but  there's 
no  such  good  news  as  that.  I'm  bullet-proof,  I  reckon,  or  I  should 
have  died  in  New  Orleans  last  summer  when  the  yellow  fever  and  I 
had  such  a  squabble.  I  was  dreadfully  sick  then,  and  half  wished  I 
had  not  run  away,  for  I  knew  you  would  feel  badly  when  you  heard 
how  I  died  with  nobody  to  care  for  me,  and  was  tumbled  into  the 
ground,  head  sticking  out  as  likely  as  any  way.  I  used  to  talk  about 
you,  old  Martha  said,  and  about  Rose,  too.    Dear   little  Rose.    I 


JIMiHE.  71 

ftctnally  laid  down  my  pen  just  now,  and  laughed  aloud  as  I  thoT  ^ht 
how  she  looked  when  I  treated  her  to  those  worms;  teUing  her  I  had 
a  necklace  for  her !  Didn't  she  dance  and  didn't  Tom  thrash  me, 
too,  till  1  saw  stars  !  Well,  he  never  struck  me  a  blow  amiss,  though 
I  used  to  think  he  did.  I  was  a  sorry  scamp,  mother, — the  biggest 
rascal  in  Boston.  But  I've  reformed,  I  have,  upon  my  word,  and 
you  ought  to  see  how  the  people  here  smile  upon  and  flatter  me,  telling 
me  what  a  nice  chap  I  am,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 

*'In  short,  mother,  to  come  at  once  to  the  point,  and  not  spend 
an  hour  in  ai-guing,  as  Tom  used  to  do  when  he  took  me  up  in  the 
attic  where  he  kept  the  gads,  you  know,  — in  short,  I've  been  natural- 
ized,— have  sworn  allegiance  to  the  future  Southern  monarchy,  and 
am  as  true  a  Southern  blood  as  you  would  wish  to  see.  I've  got  a 
Palmetto  cockade  on  my  cap, — a  tiny  Confederate  flag  on  my  sleeve, 
and  what  is  best  of  all,  I've  joined  the  Southern  army  under  Beaure- 
gard, and  shall  shortly  bring  the  war  to  the  threshold  of  the  Capi- 
tol, Hckjng  the  Yankees  there  congregated  Hke  fan.  It's  about  time 
now,  mother,  for  you  to  ring  for  Margaret.  You'll  want  the  camphor, 
and  make  a  fuss,  of  course,  so  while  you  are  enjoying  that  diversion, 
rU  go  and  practice  a  little  with  my  gun.  You  know  I  could  never 
hit  a  bam  without  shooting  twice,  but  I'm  improving  fast,  and  shall 
soon  be  able  to  pick  oJSf  a  Yankee  at  a  distance  of  a  mile  ! 

''2  o'clock,  P.M. 
""Well,  mother,  I  take  it  for  granted  you  are  nicely  tucked  up  in 
bed,  with  the  curtains  drawn  and  a  wet  rag  on  your  head,  as  the  result 
of  what  I've  told  you.  I'm  sorry  that  you  should  feel  so  badly,  and 
wish  I  could  see  you  for  an  hour  or  so,  as  I  could  surely  convince  you 
we  are  right.  We  have  been  browbeaten  and  trodden  upon  by  the 
North  until  forbearance  has  ceased  to  be  a  virtue,  and  now  that 
they've  thrown  down  the  gauntlet  we  will  meet  them  on  their  own 
terms.  I  dare  say  they  have  made  you  beHeve  that  we  struck  the 
first  blow  by  firing  into  Sumter,  but,  mother,  those  northern  papers 
do  He  so,  all  except  the  Herald,  and  a  few  others,  which  occasionally 
come  within  a  mile  of  the  truth,  but  even  they  have  been  bribed  re- 
cently, or  something.  If  you  want  the  unbiased  truth  of  the  matter 
subscribe  for  the  Richmond  Examiner,  or  better  yet,  the  Charleston 
Mercury,  whose  editor  is  a  New  England  man,  and  of  course  is  ca- 
pable of  judging  right.  He  knows  what  has  brought  on  this  war. 
He'U  teU  you  how  the  South  Carolinians  generously  bore  the  insult 


72  ROSE  MATHEB. 

of  the  Federal  flag  flying  there  defiantly  in  their  feces  until  they  could 
bear  it  no  longer,  and  so  one  day  we  pitched  in. 

"  I  say  we,  for  I  was  there  in  Fort  Moultrie,  and  saw  the  fight,  but 
did  not  join,  for  the  brave  fellows,  out  of  compliment  to  my  having 
been  bom  near  Bunker  HiU,  said  I  needn't,  so  I  mounted  a  cotton 
bale  and  looked  on,  feeling,  I'll  admit,  some  as  I  used  to  on  the 
Fourth  of  July,  when  I  saw  how  noble  old  Sumter  played  her  part. 
And  once,  when  a  shell  burst  within  ten  feet  of  me,  turning  things 
generally  topsy  turvy,  and  blowing  shirt  sleeves  and  coat  sleeves, 
and  waistbands  and  boots,  higher  than  a  kite,  I  was  positively  guilty 
of  hurrahing  for  the  Stars  and  Stripes.  *I  couldn't  help  it,  to  save 
me. 

And  yet,  mother,  I  believe  the  North  wrong, — and  the  South  right, 
but  so  generous  a  people  are  we,  that  all  we  ask  now,  is  for  you  to 
let  us  alone  ;  and  if  the  lincobaites  won't  do  that,  why,  then  we  must 
stoop  to  fight  the  mud-sills.  It's  all  humbug,  too,  about  the  negroes 
being  on  the  verge  of  insurrection.  A  more  faithful,  devoted  set,  I 
never  saw.  They'll  fight  for  their  masters  until  they  die,  every  man 
of  them.  Tom  wiU  teU  you  that.  What  are  his  politics  ?  Bell  and 
Everett,  I  dare  say,  so  there's  no  danger  of  my  meeting  him  in  bat- 
tle, and  I'm  glac  of  it,  for  to  teU  the  truth,  I  should  feel  rather  tick- 
lish raising  my  gun  against  old  Tom.  May  be,  though,  he  is  hum- 
bugged like  the  rest,  and  forms  a  part  of  that  unit  said  to  exist  at  the 
North.  "What  sort  of  a  thing  is  that,  mother?  What  does  it  look 
like  ?  Democrats  and  Kepublicans,  Abolitionists  and  Garrisonites, 
all  melted  in  one  crucible  and  bearing  Abraham's  image  and  super- 
scription !  I  wish  I  could  see  it.  Must  have  changed  mightHy  round 
Boston  from  what  they  used  to  be  when  they  quarreled  so,  some 
against  and  some  for  Southern  rights  and  Southern  people.  But 
strange  things  happen  nowadays,  and  it  may  be  Tom,  too,  has  turned 
his  coat,  and  taken  sides  with  the  Federals.  K  so,  aU  I  can  say,  is, 
'Tommie,  oh,  Tommie,  beware  of  the  day,  when  Southern  bloods 
meet  thee  in  battle  array;  for  a  field  of  weak  cowards  rushes  full 
on  my  sight,  and  the  ranks  of  the  Yankees  are  scattered  in  flight. ' 
Won't  we  rout  them,  though !  I  shall  fight  next  time.  I've  played 
pollywog  long  enough.  I  am  regularly  enlisted  now.  Am  a  Eebel,  as 
jou  call  us  at  home.  Nothing  very  bad  about  that,  either,  as  I  can 
prove  to  you,  if  you'll  take  the  trouble  to  hunt  up  my  old  do§-eared 
History  of  the  United  States,  where  Washington  is  staled  by  the  Brit- 
ish the  Eebel  CJiief. 

*'  The  South  are  only  doing  what  the  Thirteen  did  in  76,  trying  to 


JiMMIE.  73 

shake  off  the  tyrant's  yoke.  It's  the  same  thing  precisely,  only  the 
shoe  is  on  the  other  foot,  and  pinches  mightily.  "We  did  not  at  first 
intend  to  subjugat*^  the  North,  but  maybe  they'll  provoke  us  to  do 
it,  if  they  keep  on.  Now,  however,  we  only  want,  or  rather  did  want 
a  peaceable  separation,  and  you  may  as  well  yield  to  it  first  as  last. 
What  do  you  intend  doing  with  us,  any  way,  suppose  you  succeed 
in  licking  us  ?  Hold  us  as  a  conquered  province,  just  as  England 
holds  Ii-eland  ?  Much  good  that  will  do  you.  It  will  be  some  like 
keeping  a  mad  dog  chained  so  tightly  that  he  cannot  get  away, but  is 
none  the  less  snappish  and  non-come-at-able  for  that.  No,  no,  ac- 
knowledge our  independence,  and  call  home  the  chaps  you  have 
dragged  from  Poor  Houses  and  State  Prisons,  lanes  and  ditches, 
and  sent  to  fight  against  Southern  gentlemen.  This,  to  me,  is  the 
most  humiliating  feature  of  the  whole;  and  if  I  must  be  shot  or  taken 
prisoner,  I  hope  it  will  be  by  some  one  worthy  of  my  steel.  This 
last  I'm  writing  for  old  Tom's  benefit.  Give  him  my  compliments, 
and  tell  him  nothing  would  please  me  more  than  to  welcome  him  to 
our  camp  some  day. 

"Dear  little  Kose,— perhaps  she  would  not  let  a  Eebel  kiss  her, 
and  I  don't  know  but  I'd  turn  Federal  for  half  an  hour  or  so  for  the 
sake  of  tasting  her  sweet  lips  once  more.  I  do  love  Kose,  and  I  feel 
a  mysterious  lump  in  my  throat  every  time  I  look  at  her  picture, 
taken  just  before  I  left  home.  I  never  show  it,  for  somehow  it 
would  seem  like  profanation  to  have  the  soldiers  staring  at  it.  So  I 
wear  it  next  my  heart,  and  when  I  go  into  battle  I  shall  keep  it 
there.    Perhaps  it  will  save  my  hfe,  who  knows  ? 

"I  am  getting  tii-ed,  and  must  close  ere  long.  Now,  mother,  please 
don't  waste  too  many  tears  over  me.  The  time  will  come  when  you'll 
see  we  are  right;  and  if  it  will  be  any  consolation,  I  will  say  in  conclu- 
sion, that  I  have  written  a  heap  worse  than  I  reaUy  believe.  I  am 
not  a  fool.  I  understand  exactly  how  the  matter  stands,  but  I  like  the 
Southern  side  the  best.  I  think  they  are  just  as  near  right  as  the 
North,  and  I'm  going  to  stick  to  them  through  thick  and  thin.  We 
ehaU  have  a  battle  before  long,  and  this  may  be  the  last  time  I'U  ever 
\mtetoyou.  I've  been  a  bad  boy,  mother,  and  troubled  you  so 
much,  but  if  I'm  shot  you  will  forget  all  that,  and  only  remember 
how,  with  all  my  faults,  I  loved  you  still,— you  and  Tom  and  little 
liose, — more  than  you  ever  guessed. 

"By  the  way,  I  believe  I'll  send  you  a  lock  of  my  hair,  cut  just 
over  my  left  ear,  where  you  used  to  think  it  curled  so  nicely.  Per- 
haps it  will  enhance  its  value  if  you  know  I  severed  it  with  a  bowie 


74  ROSE  MATHER. 

knife,  such  as  I  now  carry  witli  me.  Tell  Rose  Fll  send  her  a  calico 
dress  by  and  by.  It  will  be  the  most  costly  present  I  can  make  her 
if  the  blockade  is  canied  out,  but  it  won't  be  ;  that  old  Bull  across 
the  sea  will  be  goring  you  with  his  horns  first  you  know.  Then 
you'll  have  a  sweet  time  up  there,  beset  before  and  behind,  and  po». 
eibly  annexed  to  Canada.  But  I  don't  want  to  make  you  feel  any 
bluer  than  you  are  probably  feeling,  so  good  bye,  good  bye. 
*'  Your  aftectionute  Rebel, 

*•  James  M.  Cahleton." 

"  P.  S. — I  shall  send  this  to  "Washington  by  a  chap  who  is  going 
to  desert,  you  know,  and  join  the  Federals  with  a  pitiful  story  about 
having  been  pressed  into  the  Rebel  service,  telhng  them,  too,  how 
poor  and  weak  and  demoralized  we  are, — how  a  handful  of  troops  can 
Hck  US,  and  so  draw  them  into  our  web,  as  a  spider  temjits  a  fly,  don't 
you  see  ?  They  offered  me  that  honor,  knowing  that  a  son  of  George 
Cakleton,  twice  M.  C.  from  Massachusetts,  and  now  defunct,  would 
be  above  suspicion,  and  would  thus  gather  a  heap  of  items.  But 
hang  me,  if  I  could  turn  spy  on  any  terms.  So  I  respectfully  de- 
clined. You  see  I  am  quite  a  somebody,  owing  to  my  ha\'ing  had 
sense  enough  to  wait  until  I  was  twentj'-one,  ere  I  ran  away,  and  so 
bringing  a  part  of  my  property  with  me.  Money  makes  the  mare 
go  here  as  elsewhere,  but  I'm  about  running  out.  I  wish  you 
could  send  me  a  few  thoasand,  can't  you  ?" 

And  this  was  Jimmie's  letter,  over  which  the  mother 
had  wept  far  bitterer  tears  than  any  she  shed  when  her 
eldest  born  bade  her  his  last  farewell,  giving  to  her,  just 
as  Jimmie  had  done,  a  lock  of  his  brown  hair.  She  had  it 
with  her  now,  and  she  laid  them  both  on  Eose's  hand, — 
the  dark  brown  lock,  and  the  short  black  silken  curl, 
which  twined  itself  aronnd  Eose's  finger,  as  if  it  ioved  the 
snowy  resting-place.  Eose's  first  impulse  was  to  shake 
it  off  as  if  it  had  been  a  guilty  thing;  but  the  sight  of  it 
recalled  so  vividly  the  handsome,  saucy  face,  and  laugh- 
ing, mischievous  black  eyes  it  once  had  helped  to  shade, 
that  she  joressed  it  to  her  lips,  and  whispered  sadly, 
"  Dear  Jimmie,  I  cannot  hate  him  if  I  try,  nor  see  how  he 
is  greatly  at  fault,"  while  in  her  heart  was  the  unframed 


JIMMIK  75 

prayer  that  God  would  care  for  the  Kebel  boy,  and  bring 
him  back  to  them. 

Mrs.  Carleton  was  proud  of  her  family  name, — proud  of 
her  family  pride, — and  she  shrank  from  having  it  known 
how  it  had  been  disgraced,  So  after  Rose's  first  grief  was 
oyer  she  bade  her  keep  it  a  secret,  and  Rose  promised 
readily,  never  doubting  for  a  moment  her  ability  to  do  so. 
Rose  had  already  borne  much  that  morning.  Excessive 
weeping  for  her  husband,  added  to  what  she  had  heard 
of  Jimmie,  took  her  strength  away,  and  she  spent  that 
first  weary  day  in  bed,  sometimes  sobbing  bitterly  as  the 
di'ead  reaHty  came  over  her  that  Will  was  really  gone, 
and  again  starting  up  from  a  feverish,  broken  sleep  with 
the  idea  that  it  was  aU  a  dream,  or  a  horrid  nightmare, 
from  which  she  should  at  last  awake.  Callers  were  aU 
excluded,  and  with  a  delicious  feeHng  that  she  was  not  to 
be  disturbed.  Rose,  late  in  the  afternoon,  lay  watching 
the  western  sunlight  dancing  on  the  wall,  when  a  step 
upon  the  stairs  was  heard,  and  in  a  moment  Widow 
Simms  appeared,  her  sharp  face  softening  into  an  expres- 
sion of  genuine  pity  when  she  saw  how  white  and  wan 
Rose  was  looking. 

"  They  tried  to  keep  me  out,"  she  said,  "  that  brawny 
cook  of  yours  and  that  filigree  waiting-maid,  but  I  would 
come  up,  and  here  I  am." 

Then  sitting  down  by  Rose  she  told  her  Annie  had 
sent  her  there.  *'  She's  sorry  for  you,"  the  widow  said, 
*'  and  she  sent  this  to  tell  you  so,"  and  the  widow  handed 
Rose  a  tiny  note,  written  by  Annie  Graham.  Once  Rose 
would  have  resented  the  act  as  implying  too  much  famih- 
arity,  but  her  heart  was  greatly  softened,  while,  had  she 
tried  her  best,  she  could  not  have  regarded  Annie  Gra- 
ham in  the  light  of  an  inferior.  Tearing  open  the  en- 
velope she  read: 


76  ROSE  MATHER. 

'•  Mt  DEAJi  Mbs.  Mather — I  am  sure  you  will  pardon  the  liberty  I 
am  taking.  My  apology  is  that  I  feel  so  deeply  for  you,  for  I  under- 
stand  just  what  you  are  suffering, — understand  how  wearily  the 
hours  drag  on,  knowing  as  you  do  that  with  the  waning  daylight  his 
step  will  not  be  heard  just  by  the  door,  making  in  your  heart  httle 
throbs  of  joy,  such  as  no  other  step  can  make.  I  am  so  sorry  for  you, 
and  I  had  hoped  you  at  least  might  be  spared,  but  God  in  his  wis- 
dom has  seen  fit  to  order  it  otherwise,  and  we  know  that ^  what  He 
does  is  right  Still  it  is  hard  to  bear, — harder  for  you  than  for  me, 
perhaps,  and  when  this  mommg  I  heard  the  car  signal  given,  I  knelt 
just  where  I  did  when  my  own  husband  went  away,  and  asked  our 
Heavenly  Father  to  bring  your  Willie  back  in  safety,  and,  Mis.  Ma- 
ther, I  am  sure  He  will,  for  I  felt,  even  then,  an  answer  to  my  prayer, 
— something  which  said,  '  It  shall  be  as  you  ask. ' 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Mather,  try  to  be  comforted;  try  to  see  the  brighter 
side ;  try  to  pray,  and  be  siu-e  the  daikness  now  enveloping  you  so 
like  a  pall  will  pass  away,  and  the  sunshine  be  the  brighter  for  the 
cloud.  Come  and  see  me  when  you  feel  like  it,  and  remember,  you 
have  at  least  two  friends  who  pray  for  you,  one  at  the  Father's  right 
hand  in  Heaven,  and  one  in  her  cottage  in  the  Hollow. 

"Annie  Gbaham." 

Bose  had  not  wept  more  passionately  than  she  did 
now,  as  she  kissed  the  note,  and  wished  she  were  one 
half  as  good  as  Annie  Graham. 

"But  I  am  not,"  she  said,  "and  never  shall  be.  Tell 
her  to  keep  praying  until  Will  comes  home  again." 

"I  will  tell  her,"  returned  the  widow,  "but  wouldn't 
it  be  well  enough  to  try  what  you  can  do  at  it  yourself, 
and  not  leave  it  all  for  her  ?" 

"Try  what  I  can  do  at  praying?"  Rose  exclaimed. 
"  I  can't  do  anything,  only  the  few  words  I  always  say 
at  night,  and  they  have  nothing  in  them  about  Wilh" 

"Brought  up  hke  a  heathen!"  muttered  the  widow, 
feeling  within  herself  that  to  the  names  of  her  own  sons 
and  Captain  Carleton,  William  Mather's  must  now  be 
added,  when,  as  was  her  daily  custom,  she  took  her 
troubles  to  One  who  has  said,  "  Cast  you  burdens  upon 
the  Lord,  for  He  careth  for  you." 


JIMMIE.  77 

"Well  both  remember  your  husband,  Miss  Graham 
and  I,  so  don't  fret  youi'self  to  death,"  she  said,  sooth- 
ingly, as  Kose  broke  into  a  fresh  burst  of  tears. 

It  isn't  him  so  much,"  Rose  sobbed,  "  though  that  is 
terrible  and  will  kill  me,  I  most  know,  but  there's  some- 
thing else  that  ails  me  a  great  deal  worse  than  that;  at 
least,  mother  has  made  me  think  it  is,  though  I  can't 
quite  see  how  having  one's  brother  join  the  Rebel  army 
is  so  very  bad." 

Rose  forgot  her  promise  of  secrecy,  just  as  her  mother 
might  have  known  she  would.  The  story  of  the  Carle- 
ton  disgrace  was  told,  and  perfectly  aghast,  the  horrified 
widow  Hstened  to  it. 

"Your  brother  a  rebel?"  she  almost  shrieked,  "a 
good-for-nothing,  ill-begotten  rebel !  I  thought  you  said 
he  was  a  captain  of  a  company;"  and  mentally  the  wid- 
ow struck  from  her  list  of  names  that  of  poor,  scandal- 
ized Tom,  that  very  moment  perspiring  at  every  pore  as 
he  went  through  with  his  evening  drill  within  the  Fed- 
eral camp. 

"No,  no,"  Rose  cried,  vehemently,  "not  Tom;  I 
have  another  brother,  a  younger  one,— Jimmie  we  call 
him.  Did  you  never  hear  of  Jimmie,  who  ran  away  more 
than  a  year  ago  ?" 

"  Never  !"  and  the  staunch  patriot  of  a  widow  pursed 
up  her  thin  lips  with  an  expression  which  plainly  said 
the  Carleton  family  had  faUen  gi'eatly  in  her  estimation, 
in  spite  of  all  Tom  had  said  of  Isaac. 

Rose,  however,  was  not  good  at  reading  expressions, 
and  taking  it  for  granted  the  widow  wanted  to  hear  all 
about  it,  she  told  her  what  she  knew,  marvelling  much  at 
the  rigid  silence  her  auditor  maintained. 

« Isn't  it  shameful  ?"  she  asked,  when  she  had  fin- 
ished. 


78  EOSE  MATHER. 

"  Shameful  ?  Yes.  I  hope  he'll  be  catched  and  hung 
higher  than  Haman.  I'll  furnish  rope  to  hang  him!" 
was  the  indignant  widow's  reply,  and  ere  Kose  could 
quite  make  out  what  ailed  her,  she  had  said  good-after- 
noon, and  banging  the  door  behind  her,  was  hurrpng 
oflf,  muttering  to  herself,  "Somethin'  wrong  in  their 
bringin'  up.  Needn't  tell  me.  I'd  like  to  see  my  boys 
tui'nin'  traitor  I  The  rascal  !*'  and  as  by  this  time  the 
widow  had  reached  the  shop  where  she  was  to  stop  for 
burning-fluid,  she  tui^ned  into  the  little  store,  and  catch- 
ing up  the  can  "vsith  a  jerk,  spilt  a  x^art  of  its  contents 
upon  her  clean  gingham  dress,  and  then  hurried  off  again 
with  rapid  strides  toward  the  cottage  in  the  Hollow. 

The  Cai'letons,  Tom  and  all,  were  below  par  in  her 
opinion,  and  kept  sinking  lower  and  lower,  until  she 
reached  the  cottage,  where  she  gave  yent  to  her  wrath 
as  follows: 

"A  pretty  how  d'ye  do  up  to  Miss  Marlherses.  Her 
brother  Jim  has  jined  the  cowardly,  sneakin',  low-lived, 
contemj)tible  Eebels,  and  is  comin'  on  to  take  Washing- 
ton !  The  scalliwag !  If  things  go  on  at  this  rate,  I'll 
jine  the  army  myself,  and  tar  and  feather  every  one  on 
*em !    Needn't  tell  me." 

Annie  was  no  lover  of  gossip,  and  knowing  that  the 
widow  was  terribly  excited,  she  made  no  reply  except  to 
pass  her  a  letter  bearing  the  Washington  postmark. 
This  had  the  desu-ed  effect,  and  utterly  obhvious  of  Jim- 
mie,  the  widow  tore  open  Isaac's  letter,  in  which  he  spoke 
of  Captain  Carleton  as  being  veiy  kind  to  him,  and  very 
popular  with  the  soldiers. 

"I  would  fight  for  liim  till  the  very  last,"  Isaac  -wrote;  "he  has 
been  so  good  to  me,  always  noticing  me  with  a  bow  when  he  comes 
into  our  regiment,  as  he  sometimes  does,  and  when  he  can,  speaMng 
to  me  a  pleasant  word.  He  knows  I  sawed  his  sister's  wood,  for  I 
told  In'm  so.  It  seemed  so  mean-like  to  be  passing  myself  off  for  bettei 


JIMMIE.  79 

than  I  am,  aud  you  know  a  soldier's  dress  does  improve  a  chap 
mightily,  giving  him  kind  of  a  dandy  air.  Why,  even  Harry  Baker 
and  Bill  look  like  gentlemen,  though  Harry  gets  drunk  aw-fuUy,  and 
has  been  in  the  guard-house  twice.  But,  as  I  was  saying,  Captain 
Carleton  didn't  ai">pear  to  think  a  bit  less  of  me,  though  he  struck 
me  on  the  shoulder,  and  laughed  kind  of  queer  when  I  said  why  I 
told  him  I  sawed  JVIrs.  Mather's  wood,  and  the  next  day  I  saw  him 
talking  with  our  colonel,  and  heard  something  about  sergefint,  and 
Isaac  Slmms,  and  'too  young  to  be  expedient.'  Then,  when  I  met 
him  again,  he  asked  me  wasn't  I  twenty-one,  in  such  a  way  that  I 
knew  he  v/anted  me  to  teU  him  yes  ;  but,  mother,  I  thought  of  that 
prayer  we  said  together,  tho  morning  I  came  away,  '  Lead  us  not 
into  temptation, '  and  I  couldn't  tell  a  lie,  though  the  answer  stuck 
in  my  throat  and  choked  me  so,  but  I  out  with  it  at  last.  I  said, 
*  No,  sir,  I  was  only  eighteen  last  Thanksgiving, '  and  then  his  face 
had  the  same  look  it  wore  when  I  told  him  I  was  a  wood-sawyer.  'And 
so  I  suppose  you'll  be  nineteen  next  Thanksgiving,'  he  said,  adding 
— '  You  don't  know  what  you  lost  by  telling  the  truth  so  frankly, 
but  the  moral  gain  is  much  greater  than  the  loss.  You  are  a  brave 
boy,  Isaac  Simms,  and  worthy  of  being  a  second  George  Washing- 
ton.' I  do  like  him  so  much !  Can't  you  send  him  something, 
mother,  if  it's  nothing  more  than  the  nice  cough-candy  you  used  to 
make,  or  some  of  that  poke-ointment  ?  I  notice  he  coughs  occasion- 
ally, and  I  heard  him  say  his  feet  were  sore.  I'd  like  to  give  him 
something,  just  to  see  his  handsome  white  teeth  when  he  laughed, 
and  said  '  Thank  you,  my  boy.'  Oh,  I  would  almost  die  for  Captain 
Carleton." 

Surely,  after  reading  this,  the  widow  could  feel  no 
more  animosity  against  the  Carletons,  on  account  of 
Jimmie's  sin.  , 

"  Every  family  must  have  a  black  sheep,"  she  said  to 
Annie,  though  where  hers  was  she  could  not  tell.  It 
surely  was  not  John,  nor  Eli,  nor  Isaac,  so  she  guessed 
it  must  have  been  the  girl-baby  that  died  before  'twas 
bom,  and  for  whom  she  shed  so  many  tears.  She 
shouldn't  do  it  again,  she'd  bet,  for  if  it  had  Hved,  it 
would  most  likely  have  cut  up  some  msty  or  other,  just 
as  Jim  Carleton  had, — married  Bill  Baker,  like  as  not ; 


80  EOSE  MATHER. 

and  with  this  consolatory  reflection,  the  widow  took  np 
Isaac's  letter  for  a  second  time,  resolving  in  her  own 
mind  that  she  would  send  that  Captain  Carleton  some- 
thing if  she  set  up  nights  to  make  it. 

"I'm  glad  my  boy  didn't  tell  a  lie,"  she  whispered 
softly  to  herself,  as  she  came  again  to  that  part  of  the 
letter,  poor,  weak  human  nature  creeping  in  vdih.  the 
same  thought,  and  suggesting  how  grand  it  would  be  to 
have  him  "Sergeant  Simms,  with  the  increased  wages 
per  month  it  would  have  brought."  This  was  the  old 
Adam  counselling  within  her,  while  the  new  Adam  said, 
"  Better  never  to  be  jDromoted  than  lose  his  integrity," 
and  with  a  silent  prayer  for  the  boy  who  would  not  tell 
a  lie,  the  widow  folded  up  the  letter,  and  then  repeated 
to  Annie  the  particulars  of  Jimmie  Carleton  in  a  much 
milder  manner  than  she  would  have  done  an  hour  before. 
So  much  good  little  acts  of  kindness  do,  stretching  on 
link  after  link,  until  they  reach  a  point  from  which  they 
recoil  in  blessings  on  the  doer's  head.  Thus  Captain 
Carleton's  fi'iendly  words  to  Isaac  Simms  were  the  direct 
means  of  saving  his  mother  and  sister  from  the  bitter 
prejudice  the  Rockland  people,  in  their  then  excitable 
state,  might  have  felt  toward  them,  had  Widow  Simms 
told  the  story  of  Jimmie  in  the  spirit  she  surely  would 
have  told  it,  had  it  not  been  for  Isaac's  timely  letter. 
This,  together  with  a  Httle  judicious  caution  from  Annie, 
changed  her  tactics,  and  though  she,  that  very  night, 
had  several  opportunities  for  telling  how  "  Miss  Marther- 
ses  brother  was  a  rebel,  and  that  Miss  Marthers  couldn't 
see  the  mighty  harm  in  it  if  he  was,"  she  kept  it  to 
herself,  speaking  only  of  the  noble  Tom,  so  kind  to  hei 
boy  Isaac. 


FIKDING  SOMETHING  TO  DO.  81 

CHAPTEK  VI. 

FINDING   SOMETHING   TO    DO    FOE   THE   WAR. 


^'jkHj^HE  next  moming  the  Mather  carriage,  containing 
^^^^^  both  Mrs.  Carleton  and  Bose,  drove  down  the 
V^  ^  Hollow,  and  stopped  in  front  of  Annie's  gate. 
JVIrs.  Carleton's  business  was  with  "Widow  Simms,  who 
was  mixing  bread  in  the  kitchen,  and  who  experienced 
considerable  trepidation  when  told  "the  grand  Boston 
lady  "  had  asked  for  her. 

"I'm  pesky  glad  I  hain't  tattled  about  Jim,"  she 
thought,  as  washing  the  flour  from  her  hands  and 
hooking  her  sleeves  at  the  wrist  she  entered  the  sitting- 
room,  and  w'ith  a  low  courtesy,  waited  to  hear  the  lady's 
errand. 

IVIrs.  Carleton  had  come  with  a  request  that  the  widow 
should  not  repeat  what  Bose  had  so  heedlessly  told  her 
the  previous  night. 

"  You  may  think  it  strange  that  I  care  so  much,"  Mrs. 
Carleton  said,  "  and  until  you  are  placed  in  similar  cir- 
cumstances you  cannot  understand  how  I  shi'ink  from 
having  it  known  that  my  son  could  fall  so  low,  or  do  so 
great  injustice  to  his  early  training." 

If  the  widow  had  possessed  one  particle  of  prejudice 
against  the  Carletons,  this  would  have  disarmed  her  en- 
tirely, but  she  did  not.  Isaac's  letter  had  swept  that  all 
away,  and  she  replied  that  "  Jimmie's  secret  was  as  safe 
with  her  as  if  locked  up  in  an  iron  chest." 

"  I  did  feel  blazin'  mad  at  you,  though,  for  a  spell," 
she  said,  "  for  I  thought  you  might  have  brtmg  him  up 
better ;  but   this  ciu'ed   me  entirely,"  and   she   handed 
Isaac's  letter  to  Bose,  bidding  her  read  it  aloud. 
4* 


82  ROSE  MATHER. 

"  Noble  boy !  Tou  must  be  proud  of  him,"  was  Mrs. 
Carleton's  comment,  wliile  Rose,  ever  impulsive,  seized 
ui^on  a  new  idea. 

It  would  be  so  nice  for  the  Rockland  ladies  to  fit  up  a 
box  of  things  and  send  to  Company  R,  reserving  a  cor- 
ner for  Tom  and  Will.  She  should  do  it,  anyway,  on 
her  own  responsibility,  if  nobody  chose  to  help  her,  and 
she  whispered  to  Annie  that  George  should  have  a  large 
share  of  the  delicacies  she  would  provide. 

"  You  may  send  that  candy  to  Tom,  if  you  choose," 
she  said  to  the  widow,  "though  I  think  cod  Hver  oil 
would  be  better.  And  the  ointment  too, — only  it  mustn't 
sit  near  my  preserves,  for  fear  the  two  will  get  mixed." 

Rose  had  found  something  to  do,  and  so  absorbed  was 
she  in  a  plan  whicji  every  one  approved,  that  she  forgot 
to  cry  all  the  time  for  WUly  as  she  had  fully  intended  do- 
ing. Up  the  streets  and  down  she  went,  sometimes 
walking,  sometimes  riding,  but  always  in  a  flurry,  always 
excited,  now  tumbling  over  dry-goods  boxes  in  quest  of 
one  large  enough  to  hold  the  many  articles  preparing  in 
Rockland  for  the  then  ill-fed,  suffering  soldiers  of  the 
13th  Regiment,  now  up  at  the  express  office,  bargaining 
about  the  expense,  which  she  meant  to  bear  herself,  and  now 
down  at  the  Hall,  adroitly  smoothing  over  little  bicker- 
ings frequently  arising  among  the  ladies  assembled  there, 
concerning  the  articles  sent  in,  some  declaring  the  fried 
apiDle  pies  brought  by  !Mrs.  Baker  should  not  go,  nor 
yet  the  round  balls  of  Dutch  cheese  she  had  saved  sour 
milk  two  weeks  to  make,  just  because  "  Billy  rehshed  it 
so  much,  long  with  apple  turnovers." 

Poor  old  Mrs.  Baker !  It  was  the  best  she  could  do,  and 
"when  Rose  saw  how  the  tears  came  at  the  prospect  of 
Billy's  losing  the  feast  she  had  prepared  with  so  much 
cai-e,  she  declared  the  cheese  should  go  if  she  had  to  sendii 


FINDING  SOMETHING  TO  DO.  83 

in  a  separate  box.  It  was  just  so  with  tlie  widow's  poke 
ointment,  some  of  the  ladies  wondering  what  next  would 
be  brought  in  and  what  it  could  be  for.  Rose  knew 
exactly  what  'twas  for;  Tom  had  corns,  and  the  despised 
salve  was  for  him,  so  that  should  go  if  nothing  else. 
But  when  Susan  Ruggles  Simms,  her  thoughts  intent  on 
John,  brought  in  a  round  of  roasted  veal,  which  her 
mother-in-law  said  would  be  in  a  most  lively  condition 
by  the  time  it  reached  Washington,  Rose,  after  suggest- 
ing that  it  be  packed  in  ice  and  put  in  a  refi'igerator, 
yielded  for  once,  and  persuaded  the  girl-wife  to  cany 
home  her  veal,  which  would  most  surely  be  spoiled  ere 
John  came  to  see  it. 

"  You  can  write  him  a  nice  long  letter, "  she  said,  when 
she  saw  how  disappointed  Susan  lookgd.  "  You  can  tell 
him  your  intentions  were  good  until  we  old  experienced 
married  ladies  persuaded  you  out  of  them." 

So  Susan,  with  a  sigh,  carried  back  her  nice  stuffed 
roast,  the  widow  muttering  in  an  aside  tone,  "  That's  all 
them  shiftless  Ruggleses  know!  Might  as  well  send 
maggits  and  done  with  it." 

It  was  a  strange  medley  that  huge  box  contained,  for 
every  member  of  Company  R  was  remembered,  thanks 
to  the  indefatigable  Rose,  who  procured  a  Hst  of  the 
names,  and  when  she  found  any  without  friends  in  that 
immediate  vicinity,  she  suppHed  the  deficiency  from  her 
own  store  of  luxui'ies.  Of  course  Will  and  Tom  fared  the 
best,  while  next  to  them  came  Lieutenant  Graham  and 
Isaac  Simms,  Rose  writing  a  tiny  note  to  the  latter,  tell- 
ing him  how  much  she  Uked  him  for  speaking  so  of  Tom, 
and  sending  him  a  pair  of  her  fine  linen  sheets,  because 
she  couldn't  think  of  anything  else,  and  thought  these 
would  be  cool  to  sleep  in  on  hot  summer  nights.  Dear 
little  Rose  !  how  fast  she  grew  in  popularity,  the  j)eople 


8-1  KOSE  MATHER. 

wondeiing  they  liad  never  seen  before  how  good  she  waS; 
and  imputing  some  portion  of  her  present  interest  to  the 
presence  of  her  mother,  who  had  made  arrangements  to 
remain  for  an  indefinite  length  of  time  in  Rockland,  and 
who,  far  less  demonstrative  than  her  active  daughter, 
did  much  by  her  sensible  advice  to  keep  the  wheel  in 
motion,  and  Rose  fi'om  overdoing  the  matter  so  zealously 
taken  in  hand. 

The  box  was  packed  at  last ; — every  chink  and  crevice 
was  full.  Mrs.  Baker's  Dutch  cheese  and  fi'ied  apple 
pies  were  there,  wrajoped  by  Rose  Mather  in  innumera- 
ble folds  of  paper,  tied  around  with  yards  of  the  strong- 
est twine  she  could  find,  and  safely  stowed  away  where 
they  could  not  be  harmed ;  "Widow  Simms's  ointment 
too,  and  the  candy  she  had  made,  occupied  a  comer,  to- 
gether with  her  daguerreoty[:)e  sent  to  Zsaac,  and  a  letter 
to  Captain  Carleton.  That  letter  was  a  mammoth  under- 
taking, but  the  widow  felt  it  her  duty  to  write  it,  groan- 
ing and  sweating,  and  consulting  Perry's  old  leathern- 
bound  dictionary  for  every  word  of  which  she  felt  at  all 
uncertain,  and  driving  poor  Annie  neai'ly  distracted 
with  asking  "  if  this  were  grammar,  and  if  that  were  too 
lovin'  like,  for  a  widder  to  send  a  widower."  Not  a  httle 
amused,  Annie  gave  the  required  advice,  smiling  in  spite 
of  herself,  as  she  read  the  note  the  widow  handed  her, 
and  w^hich  ran  as  follows : 

•'  My  dear  Me.  Capttn  Carmston  : — I  can't  help  pnttin'  dear  before 
your  name,  you  seem  so  nigh  to  me  since  Isaac  told  how  tiud  you 
was  to  him.  I'm  nothin'  but  a  shrivelled,  diied  up  widder,  fifty  odd 
years  old,  but  I've  got  a  mother's  heart  big  enough  to  take  you  in 
with  my  other  bc»ys.  I  know  you  are  a  nice,  clever  man,  but 
whether  you're  a  good  one,  as  I  call  good,  I  don't  know,  though  beiu' 
you  come  from  Boston  I'm  afraid  you're  a  Unitarian,  and  I'll  never 
quit  prayin'  for  you  till  I  know.  That's  about  all  I  can  do,  for  I'm 
poor  a'most  r.s  Job's  turkey;  but  if  there's  any  shirts  ortrouses,  orth'j 


FINDING   SOMETHING  TO   DO.  85 

lilie  o'  that  wants  maldii',  let  me  know,  for  I  don't  believe  youi 
mother  or  sister  is  great  at  sewin'.  Mrs.  Marthers  ain't,  I  know, 
though  as  nice  a  little  body  as  ever  drawed  the  breath.  Your  wife  is 
dead,  too,  they  say,  and  that  comes  hard  agin.  I  know  just  how 
that  feels,  for  my  man  died  eighteen  years  ago  last  October,  a  few 
weeks  before  Isaa,c  was  bom. 

*'  I  send  you  some  intment  for  your  feet,  and  some  bits  of  linen 
rags  to  bind  round  your  toes  ;  also,  some  red  pepper  candy,  and  my 
likeness  to  Isaa3.  He'll  let  you  see  it  if  you  want  to.  It  don't  'pear 
to  me  that  my  eyes  is  as  dull  as  that,  or  my  lips  so  puckered  up,  but 
we  can't  see  as  others  see  us,  and  I  ain't  an  atom  proud.  Heaven 
bless  you  for  being  kind  to  Isaac,  and  if  an  old  woman's  prayers  and 
blessin's  is  of  any  use,  you  may  be  sure  you  have  mine.  If  yoa 
come  to  battle,  be  so  good  as  to  oversee  him,  won't  you,  and  git  him 
put  way  back,  if  you  can.  Excuse  haste  and  a  bad  pen. 
«'  Yours  with  regret, 

**Mbs.  Belinda  Simms," 

This  was  the  widow's  letter,  sent  with  Tom's  parcel  to 
Washington,  where  the  box  was  greeted  by  the  company 
with  exclamations  of  joy,  and  could  those  who  sent  it 
have  seen  the  eager,  happy  faces  of  each  one  as  he  found 
he  was  remembered,  they  would  have  felt  doubly  repaid 
for  aU  the  trouble  and  annoyance  it  had  cost  them. 
Only  one  growl  of  dissatisfaction  was  heard,  and  that 
from  Harry  Baker,  who,  with  a  muttered  oath,  exclaimed, 
as  he  undid  his  paper  parcel, 

"Apple  turnovers,  by  jing!  Sourer  than  swill,  and 
mouldier  than  the  rot.  Halloo,  Bill,  got  some  too,  I  see. 
"What  in  fury  is  this  ?  Dutch  cheese,  as  I'm  ahve.  Make 
good  bullets  for  Secesh,  so  here  goes!"  and  the  next 
moment  th^re  whizzed  through  the  air  the  cheese  poor 
old  Mrs.  Baker  had  found  so  hard  to  smuggle  in.  The 
apple  pies  followed  next,  and  then  the  reckless  Harry 
amused  himself  with  jeering  at  Bill,  who,  after  carefully 
stowing  away  in  his  pocket,  the  large,  strong  twine  Eose 
Mather  had  bound  around  the  paper  parcel,  seated  him- 


86  ROSE   MATHER. 

self  ui^on  the  ground,  aud  was  munching  away  at  his 
pie,  not  because  he  liked  it,  but  because  his  mother  had 
sent  it,  and  Billy's  mother  was  dearer  to  him  now  than 
when  he  was  at  home. 

Meanwhile,  in  another  part  of  the  camp,  Tom  Carleton 
was  opening  his  parcel,  while  around  him  stood  a  group 
of  officers,  some  his  personal  friends  whom  he  had  known 
in  Boston. 

"  There  must  be  some  mistake,"  he  said,  as  he  daubed 
bis  white  fingers  with  the  sticky  candy.  But  Rose  had 
packed  his  things  in  a  separate  box,  and  directed  it  her- 
self. There  could  be  no  mistake,  and  he  continued  his 
investigations,  coming  next  upon  the  widow's  picture, 
which  Rose  had  carelessly  placed  in  his  parcel. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  Tom's  look  of 
amazement  and  perj^lexity,  as  his  eye  fell  upon  the  face 
which  looked  out  upon  him  from  its  glass  covering. 
Precise,  puckered,  and  piim,  with  a  decided  best-clothes 
air.  Who  could  it  be  ?  Tom  asked  this  question  aloud, 
while  his  companions  laughingly  declared  it  some  lady 
love  he  had  left  behind,  suggesting  at  last  that  he  read 
the  note  which  lay  just  beneath  it,  as  that  might  explain 
the  mystery.  So  Tom  did  read  it,  with  a  fellow-officer 
looking  over  his  shoulder,  and  reading  too.  But  there 
was  too  much  of  the  anxious,  genuine  mother-tone  about 
that  letter  to  cause  more  than  three  or  four  hearty 
laughs  at  the  expense  of  Tom  and  the  widow.  Tom 
knew  now  for  whom  the  picture  was  intended,  and  he 
carried  it  to  Isaac,  but  it  was  many  a  day  ere  Tom  Carle- 
ton  heard  the  last  of  3Irs.  Belinda  Sumns  ! 

Numerous  were  the  thanks  sent  by  Company  R  to 
Rose  for  her  kind  thoughtfulness  in  setting  afloat  a  plan 
which  brought  them  so  much  good,  and  Rose,  as  she 
received   the    messages,  wished    it  was  aU  to   be  done 


FADING  SOMETHING  TO  DO  87 

again,  and  -wondered  what  she  could  find  to  do  next. 
One  of  "WlU's  letters  told  her  at  last  what  to  do.  She  could 
be  kind  to  the  soldiers,  if  there  were  any  in  Rockland. 
She  could  visit  their  families,  speak  to  them  words  of 
comfort,  and  supply,  if  needful,  their  necessities.  This 
was  just  what  suited  her,  and  she  commenced  her  tiuik 
with  a  right  good  will,  starthng  many  an  awkward  youth 
wearing  a  soldier's  dress,  by  accosting  him  lq  the  street, 
inquiring  iato  his  history,  and  frequently  ending  the  in- 
terview by  offering  him  her  soft  white  hand,  and  leaving 
in  his  rougher  one  a  piece  of  money,  which  affected  him 
less  than  the  brightness  of  the  brilliant  eyes  he  remem- 
bered long  after  the  silver  was  spent.  Every  soldier's 
wife  and  every  soldier's  mother  was  looked  after,  and 
the  Mather  carriage  was  oftener  seen  in  the  muddy  Hol- 
low and  by  lanes  in  Eockland,  than  at  the  gates  of  more 
pretentious  dwelhngs.  Harry's  mother  and  Bill's,  and 
others  of  her  standing,  blessed  the  Httle  lady,  for  the 
sunshine  brought  so  often  to  their  squalid  homes,  while 
Annie  and  Widow  Simms  prayed  from  a  full  heart  that 
no  evil  should  befaU  the  husband  or  the  brother  of  the 
heroic  Kose. 


CHAPTEE  YIL 

THE   BATTLE. 


EIGHTLY,  beautifully  the  Sabbath  morning  broke 
^  over  all  the  hills  of  the  Northland,  covering  them 
-  .^^  with  floods  of  rosy  light,  burnishing  the  forest 
trees  with  sheens  of  gold,  and  cresting  each  tall  spire 
with  colors  which  seemed  bom  of  Paradise,  so  radiantly 
bright  they  looked,   flashing  from  their  lofty  resting- 


88  EOSE  MATHER 

plac«,  and  glancing  off  across  the  valleys  Tvhere  the 
fields  of  -waving  corn  and  summer  wheat  were  growing. 
To  the  westward,  too,  where  prairie  on  prairie  stretches 
on  into  almost  interminable  space,  the  same  July  sim 
was  shiaing,  as  quietly,  as  peacefully,  as  if  in  the  heai'ts 
of  men  there  burned  no  bitter  feeling  of  fierce  and  vin- 
dictive hate, — no  thirsting  for  each  other's  blood.  Oh, 
how  calm,  how  still  it  was  that  Sunday  morning  both 
east,  and  north  and  west,  and  as  the  sun  rose  higher  in 
the  heavens,  how  soothingly  the  bells  rang  out  their  mu- 
sical chimes.  From  New  England's  templed  hills  to  the 
far-off  shores  of  Oregon,  the  echoes  rose  and  fell,  ceasing 
only  when  ceased  the  tramp  of  the  many  feet  hastening 
up  to  worship  God  iu  his  appointed  way.  Old  and 
young,  rich  and  poor,  father  and  mother,  sister  and 
brother,  husband  and  wife,  assembHng  together  to  keep 
the  holy  day,  that  best  day  of  the  seven,  praying  not  so 
much  for  their  own  sins  forgiven  as  for  the  loved  ones 
gone  to  war, — the  dear  ones  far  away, — and  little,  Httle 
dreaming  as  they  prayed,  how  the  same  sun  stealing  so 
softly  up  the  chuixh's  aisle,  and  shiuing  on  the  church's 
wall,  was  even  then  looking  down  on  a  far  different 
scene, — a  scene  of  carnage,  blood  and  death.  For,  off  to 
the  southward,  near  where  the  waters  of  the  Potomac 
ripple  past  the  grave  of  our  nation's  hero,  aiiother  con- 
course of  people  was  gathered  together;  theii'  Sunday  bell 
the  cannon's  roar;  their  Sunday  hymn  the  battle-cry. 

Long  before  the  earliest  robin  had  trilled  its  matin 
song,  they  had  been  on  the  move,  their  bristling  bayonets 
glittering  in  the  brilliant  moonhght  like  the  December 
frost,  as  with  regular,  even  tread  they  kept  on  their  wind- 
ing way,  knowing  not  if  the  pale  stars  watching  their 
course  so  pityingly,  as  it  were,  would  ever  shine  on  them 
ft  gain.      Onward, — onward, — onward  still  they  pressed  ; 


THE  BATTLE.  89 

over  tlie  liills,  tlirougli  the  ravines,  down  the  valleys,  across 
the  fields,  till  the  same  sun  which  shone  so  softly  on  their 
distant  homes  rose  also  over  the  Federal  Fly,  as  it  has 
been  aptly  termed,  moving  onward  to  the  Weh  which  lay  be- 
yond, so  well  concealed  and  so  devoid  of  sound  that  none 
could  guess  that  the  treacherous  woods,  wearing  so  cool, 
so  inviting  a  look,  were  sheltering  a  mighty,  expectant 
host,  watching  as  eagerly  for  the  advancing  foe  as  ever 
ambushed  spider  waited  for  its  deluded  prey.  Backward, 
—backward,  stretched  the  Confederate  army,  hne  after 
Hne,  rank  after  rank,  battalion  after  battalion,  until  in 
numbers  it  more  than  quadrupled  that  handful  of  men 
steadily  moving  on.  From  out  their  leafy  covert  the  en- 
emy peered,  exulting  that  the  fortunes  of  the  great  Ee- 
public,  their  whilom  mother,  were  so  surely  within  their 
power,  and  pausing  for  a  time  in  sheer  wantonness,  just 
as  a  kitten  sports  with  the  mouse  she  has  already  cap- 
tured, and  knows  cannot  escape.  Onward, — onward, — ■ 
onward  swept  the  Federal  troops;  their  polished  arms 
and  glittering  uniforms  flashing  in  the  morning  sunlight 
just  as  the  flag  for  which  they  fought  waved  in  the  morn- 
ing breeze.  They  were  weary  and  worn,  and  their  hps 
were  parched  with  feverish  thirst,  for  hours  had  passed 
since  they  had  tasted  food  or  water.  But  not  for  this  did 
they  tarry;  there  was  no  faltering  in  their  ranks,  no  faint- 
ly beating  heart,  no  mid  yearning  to  be  away,  no  timid 
shrinking  fi'om  what  the  woods,  now  just  before  them, 
might  hold  in  store,  and  A7hen  thd"  whisper  ran  along  the 
lines  that  the  enemy  was  in  view,  there  was  nought  felt 
save  joy,  that  the  long  suspense  was  ended  and  the  fray 
about  to  commence. 


There  was  a  halt  in  the  fjront  ranks,  aaid  while  they 
stand  there  thus,  lot  us  look  once  more  upon  those  whom 


90  ROSE   MATHER. 

We  have  known.  Just  where  the  good  humored  faces  of 
the  Irish  regiment,  and  the  tall  caps  of  the  Highlanders 
are  perceptible,  the  13th  appears  in  view,  our  company 
marching  decorously  on,  no  lagging,  no  faltering, . no 
cowards  there,  though  almost  every  heart  had  in  it 
some  thought  of  home  and  the  dear  ones  left  behind. 
Prayers  were  said  by  lips  imused  to  pray,  and  who  shall 
tell  how  many  records  of  sins  forgiven  were  that  morn- 
ing written  in  heaven?  Bibles,  too,  were  pressed  to 
throbbing  hearts,  and  to  none  more  closely  than  to 
George  Graham's  broad  chest.  He  had  prayed  that 
morning  in  the  clear  moonlight,  and  by  the  same  moon- 
light he  had  tried  to  read  a  Hne  in  Annie's  well-worn 
Bible,  opening  to  where  God  promises  to  care  for  the 
widow  and  the  fatherless.  Was  it  ominous,  that  i^assage  ? 
Did  it  mean  that  he,  so  strong,  so  vigorous,  so  full  of  life, 
should  bite  the  dust  ere  many  hours  were  done  ?  He 
could  not  believe  it.  He  was  too  full  of  hope  for  that. 
He  could  not  die  with  Annie  at  home  alone,  so  he  but- 
toned her  Bible  over  his  heart,  and  prayed  that  if  a  bul- 
let struck  him  it  might  be  there,  fondly  hoping  that 
would  break  its  force. 

There  was  a  shadow  on  his  handsome  face,  and  it  com- 
municated itself  to  Isaac  Simms,  who  was  glancing  so 
stealthily  at  him,  and  guessing  of  what  he  was  thinking. 
Isaac,  too,  had  prayed  in  the  moonlight,  and  he,  too,  had 
thought,  "AMiat  if  I  should  be  killed!"  wondering  if 
his  mother  ever  would  forget  her  soldier  boy,  even  though 
she  might  not  weep  over  his  nameless  grave.  This  to 
Isaac  was  the  hardest  thought  of  all.  The  boy  that  would 
not  tell  a  lie  for  the  sake  of  promotion,  was  not  afraid  to 
die,  but  he  preferred  that  it  should  not  be  there  'mid  piles  of 
bloody  slain.  He  would  rather  death  should  come  to  him 
up  in  the  humble  attic,  where  he  had  lain  so  oft  and  list- 


THE  BATTLE.  91 

ened  to  the  patter  of  the  rain  on  the  roof  above,  or 
feigned  to  be  asleep  "vvhen  his  mother  stole  noiselessly 
across  the  threshold  to  see  if  he  were  covered  from  the 
cold  and  shielded  from  the  snow,  which  sometimes  found 
an  entrance  thi'ongh  a  crevice  in  the  wall.  'Tis  strange 
when  we  are  in  danger  what  flights  our  fancy  often  takes, 
gathering  up  the  minutest  details  of  our  past  life,  and 
spreading  them  out  before  us  with  startling  distinctness. 
So  Isaac,  with  possible  death  in  advance,  thought  of  his 
past  life;  of  every  object  connected  with  his  home,  from 
the  grass  i)lat  in  the  rear,  where  his  mother  bleached  her 
clothes  in  spring,  to  the  blue  and  white  checked  blanket 
hung  round  his  attic  bed  to  protect  him  from  the  winter 
storm.  That  "VNddow,  so  stern,  so  harsh,  so  sharp  to  al- 
most every  one,  had  been  the  tenderest  of  parents  to  him, 
and  a  tear  glistened  on  the  cheek  of  the  fair-haired  boy 
as  he  remembered  the  only  time  he  ever  was  hateful  to 
her.  He  had  asked  her  forgiveness  for  it,  and  she  surely 
would  not  recall  it  when  she  read  the  letter  Eli  or  John 
would  send,  bearing  the  fatal  line,  "  Mother,  poor  Isaac 
is  dead."  He  knew  they  would  call  him  "  poor  Isaac,'* 
for  though  they  sometimes  teased  him  as  his  "  mother's 
great  girl  baby,"  they  petted  him  quite  as  much  as  she, 
only  in  a  different  way,  and  he  felt  now  that  both  would 
step  between  him  and  the  bullet  they  thought  would 
harm  him.  Eli  would  any  way,  but  John,  perhaps,  would 
hesitate,  as  he  now  loved  Susan  best.  Isaac  was  proud 
of  his  brothers,  and  he  glanced  admiringly  at  them  as 
they  marched  side  by  side,  keeping  even  step  just  as  they 
did  down  Main  street,  with  his  mother  and  Susan  looking 
on.  One  now  was  thinking  of  Susan,  and  one  of  his  wid- 
owed mother. 

Close  by  Isaac  walked  BiU,  quiet  and   subdued.     He 
had  not  prayed  that  morning, — ^he  never  prayed;  but 


y^  ROSE   MATHER 

when  lie  saw  Isaac  kneeling  on  his  blanket  he  had  said  to 
him,  "  Manage  to  get  in  a  word  or  two  for  me  and  Hal;  we 
need  it,  mercy  knows."  And  surely  if  ever  poor  mortal 
needed  prayer  it  was  Hal,  as  his  brother  styled  him. 
Half  stupefied  with  the  vile  liquor  he  had  constantly  man- 
aged to  get,  he  trudged  on,  boasting  of  what  he  could  do; 
"  only  give  him  a  chance  and  he'd  Hck  the  entire  Secession 
army.  He'd  like  to  see  the  ball  that  could  kill  him  ;  he 
was  good  at  dodging;  he'd  show  'em  a  thing  or  two  in  the 
the  way  of  fight;  he'd  take  the  tuck  out  of  the  Southern 
gentlemen, — yes,  he  would,"  and  so  he  went  thought- 
lessly boasting  on  to  death ! 


Will  Mather  was  not  there.  Indisposition  had  de- 
tained him  at  Washington,  and  with  a  hearty  God  speed 
he  had  sent  his  comrades  on  their  way,  lamenting  that 
he,  too,  could  not  join  them,  and  bidding  his  brother-in 
law  do  some  fighting  for  him. 


At  the  head  of  his  company  Capt.  Carleton  moved. 
Firm,  erect,  and  dignified,  as  if  bom  to  command,  he  did 
full  justice  to  the  Carleton  name,  of  which  he  "v\  as  justly 
proud;  but  his  face  was  paler  than  its  wont,  and  a  tinge 
of  sadness  rested  upon  it  as  his  regiment  halted  at  last  in 
front  of  what  was  supposed  to  be  the  hidden  foe.  Thomas 
Carleton  had  wept  bitter  tears  when  he  laid  his  Mary  to  rest 
beneath  South  Carolina's  sunny  skies,  and  had  thought 
he  could  never  be  reconciled  to  the  loss,  but  he  was  half 
glad  now  that  she  was  dead,  for  she  was  bom  of  South- 
em  blood,  and  he  would  rather  she.  should  not  know  the 
errand  which  had  brought  him  to  Virginia,  where  fiirst  he 


THE   BATTLE.  93 

met  and  loved  her, — rather  slie  should  not  know  how  he 
had  come  to  war  with  her  people.  There  was  another 
thought,  too,  which  made  him  sad  that  July  day.  The 
green,  beautiful  woods  standing  there  so  silently  before 
him  probably  sheltered  more  than  one  with  whom  he  had 
in  bygone  days  struck  the  friendly  hand  and  bandied  the 
friendly  joke,  for  his  home  was  once  in  Richmond,  and 
there  were  there  those  who  once  held  no  small  place  in  his 
heart.  And  they  were  dear  to  him  yet.  He  was  not  Jight- 
ing  against  them  personally,  he  was  contending  only  for  his 
nation's  rights,  his  country's  honor.  He  bore  no  malice  to- 
ward his  Southern  brethren,  and  like  many  of  our  staunch- 
est,  bravest  Northern  men,  he  would  even  then  have  met 
them  more  than  haK  way  with  terms  of  reconciliation.  He 
knew  they  were  no  race  of  bloodthirsty  demons,  as  some 
fanatics  had  madly  termed  them.  They  were  men,  most 
of  them,  like  himself, — warm-hearted,  impulsive  men, 
generous  almost  to  a  fault  in  peace,  but  firm  and  terrible 
in  war.  Tom  had  hved  among  them, — had  shared  their 
hospitahties, — had  seen  them  in  their  various  phases,  and 
making  allowance  for  the  vast  difference  which  education 
and  habits  of  society  make  in  one's  opinions,  he  saw 
many  points  wherein  the  North  had  misunderstood  their 
actions,  and  not  made  due  concessions  when  they  might 
have  done  so  without  yielding  one  iota  of  their  honor. 
But  time  for  concession  was  over  now.  PoHtical  fana- 
tics had  stirred  up  the  mass  of  the  people  till  nought  but 
blood  could  wash  away  the  fancied  wrong.  And  they 
were  titer e  that  Sabbath  morn  to  spill  it.  Tom,  however, 
did  not  know  that  the  green,  silent  woods  sheltered  his 
brothei\  for  his  mother  had  purposely  withheld  from  him 
the  fact  that  Jimmie  had  joined  the  Southern  Army. 
She  knew  the  struggle  it  had  cost  him  to  take  up  arms 
against  a  people  he  liked  so  much,  ajid  she  would  not  wil- 


94  ROSE   MATHEll. 

lingly  add  to  his  burden  by  telling  him  of  Jimmie's  sin; 
and  it  was  well  she  did  not,  for  had  he  known  how  near 
he  was  to  Jimmie,  he  could  not  have  stood  there  so  un- 
moved, awaiting  the  first  booming  gun  which  should  her- 
ald the  opening  of  the  battle. 

It  came  at  last,  a  bellowing,  thunderous  roar,  whose 
echoes  shook  the  hills  for  miles,  as  the  hissing  shell 
went  plowing  thi'ough  the  air,  bursting  harmlessly  at 
last  just  beyond  its  destined  mark.  The  enemy  were  in 
no  hurry  to  retort,  for  a  deep  silence  ensued,  broken  ere 
long  by  another  heavy  gun,  which  did  its  work  more 
thoroughly  than  its  predecessor  had  done,  for  where  sev- 
eral breathing  souls  had  been  there  was  nought  left  save 
the  bleeding  mutilated  trunks  of  what  were  once  human 
forms.  The  battle  had  commenced.  Sherman's  Bri- 
gade, in  which  was  the  N.  T.  13th,  did  its  part  nobly, 
overrunning  in  its  headlong  charges  battery  after  battery, 
and  recking  little  of  the  shafts  of  death  falling  so  thick 
and  fast.  Louder  and  more  deafening  grew  the  battle 
din,  hoarser  and  heavier  the  battle  thunder,  denser, 
deeper  the  battle  smoke,  dimming  the  brightness  of  that 
Sabbath  morn.  Louder,  shriller  gi'ew  the  Gaelic  scream, 
fiercer  rose  the  Celtic  cry,  wilder  rang  the  yells  of  the 
13th,  as  its  members  plunged  into  the  thickest  of  the  fight 
their  demoniacal  shouts  appalling  the  hearts  of  the  foe 
far  more  than  the  rain  of  shot  so  vigorously  kept  up,  and 
causing  them  to  flee  as  from  a  pack  of  fiends. 

Steady  in  its  place  George  Graham's  giant  form  was 
seen;  no  thought  of  Annie  ncfw;  no  thought  of  home; 
no  thought  of  Bible  buttoned  over  the  heart;  thoughts 
only  of  the  fi-ay  and  victory. 

Not  far  away,  and  where  the  fight  was  thickest, 
the  widow's  boys,  EU  ajid  John,  stood  firm  as  granite 
rocks,  the    beaded  sweat  dropping  from  their  burning 


THE  BATTLE.  05 

brows,  begrimed  with  battle  smoke,  as  with  unflinch- 
ing nerve  and  hands  that  trembled  not,  they  took 
their  aims,  seeing  more  than  one  fall  before  their  sure 
fire. 

White  as  the  winter  snow  one  boyish  face  gleamed 
amid  the  excited  throng;  the  fair  hair  pushed  back  from 
the  girhsh  forehead,  and  the  scorching  sun  falling  upon 
the  unsheltered  head,  for  Isaac's  cap  had  been  shot  away, 
and  the  ball  which  shot  it  lay  swimming  in  the  dark  life 
blood  of  poor  Harry  Baker,  just  behind,  and  just  two 
indies  taller  than  the  widow's  youngest  born.  Poor 
Harry !  He  had  done  his  best  to  keep  the  promise  made 
so  boastfully.  In  all  the  13th  Eegiment  there  was  not 
one  who  j)layed  a  braver  part  then  he,  firing  off  with 
every  gun  a  timely  joke,  vvhich  raised  a  smile  even  in 
that  dreadfid  hour.  Bui  Harry's  work  was  done,  and 
jMi's.  Baker  had  but  one  boy  now,  for  her  first-born  lay 
upon  the  ground  so  blackened  and  disfigured,  with  the 
thick  brains  slowly  oozing  from  his  mangled  head,  and 
the  piu'ple  gore  pouring  from  his  Hps,  that  only  those 
who  saw  him  fall,  could  guess  that  it  was  Harry.  Poor 
Harry !  We  say  it  again,  sadly,  reverently,  for  rude  and 
reckless  though  he  was,  he  fell  fighting  for  his  country; 
and  to  all  who  perish  thus  we  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude,  a 
meed  of  praise.  Sacred,  then,  be  the  memory  of  those 
whose  graves  are  with  the  slain,  far  away  beneath  Vir- 
ginia's sky,  and  sacred  be  the  memory  of  poor  Harry 
Baker.  His  own  worst  enemy,  he  Hved  his  life's  brief 
span,  and  died  at  last  a  soldier's  death. 


"Shot  plump  through  the   upper   story!     Won't  the 
old  woman  row  it,  though?"  was  Bill's   characteristic 


96  ROSE   MATHER 

comment,  as  the  whizzing  and  the  death  shriek  mefc  his 
ear,  and  the  falhng,  bleeding  figure  met  his  view. 

Spite  of  his  jeering  words  there  was  a  keen  pang  in 
Billy's  heart  as  he  shrank  away  from  the  gory  mass  he 
knew  had  been  his  brother, — a  sudden  up-heaving  of 
something  in  his  throat  and  a  blui*  before  his  vision,  as 
he  began  to  realize  what  it  was  to  go  to  war.  But  there 
was  then  no  time  to  waste  over  a  fallen  brother.  The 
dread  work  must  go  on,  and  with  the  whispered  words, 
"  Poor  Hal,  I'll  do  the  tender  for  you  when  we  get  the 
varments  hcked,"  he  marked  the  position  by  signs  ho 
could  not  miss,  and  then  pressed  closer  to  his  comrade, 
saying,  as  he  did  so — 

"  Ike,  Hal's  a  goner.  Shot  right  through  his  top-knot, 
with  a  piece  of  your  cap  wedged  in  his  skuU.  If  you'd 
been  a  leetle  taller  you'd  been  scalped  instead  of  Hal 
So  much  you  get  for  bein'  '  Stub.' " 

Isaac  shuddered  involuntarily,  but  ere  he  could  look 
back  the  crowed  behind  pushed  him  forward,  and  so  he 
failed  to  see  the  ruiu  which,  but  for  his  short  stature, 
would  have  come  to  him.  There  were  no  mai'ks  upon 
him  yet, — nothing,  save  the  uncovered  head,  to  tell  where 
he  had  been.  The  balls  which  struck  down  others  passed 
him  by,  the  wind  they  made  lifting  occasionally  his  fair 
hair,  but  doing  no  other  damage.  Above,  around,  be- 
fore, behind,  at  right,  at  left,  the  grape  shot  fell  Hke  hail, 
but  left  him  all  untouched,  and  Billy,  grown  timid  since 
poor  Harry's  fate,  pressed  closer  to  the  boy  who  would 
not  tell  a  lie,  as  if  there  were  safety  there. 

Onward,  onward  they  pressed,  Isaac  wondering  some- 
times how  Tom  Carleton  fared,  and  looking  again  in 
quest  of  their  young  Lieutenant  Graham,  still  towering 
above  them  all,  in  spite  of  Rose's  prediction.     The  ball 


THE   BATTLE.  97 

for  whicli  lie  "vras  the  mark  had  not  been  fired  yet,  but  it 
was  coming.  An  Alabamian  vohmteer  had  singled  out 
that  form,  yelling  exultingly  as  he  saw  it  reel  and  totter 
Hke  a  broken  reed.  They  were  well  matched  in  size,  the 
two  combatants,  both  splendid  marks,  as  Eose  had  said, 
and  Bill  Baker's  sure  aim  froze  the  laugh  upon  the  Ala- 
bamian's  lips  and  sent  him  staggering  to  the  ground, 
just  as  Isaac  received  his  captain's  orders  to  lead  the 
fainting,  wounded  George  to  a  place  of  comparative 
safety. 

"  It's  only  my  arm  they've  shattered,"  George  whis- 
pered, glancing  sadly  at  the  disabled  Hmb  over  which 
Isaac's  tears  were  falhng.  "  Will  it  kill  me,  think  ?"  was 
the  next  remark,  prompted  by  a  thought  of  Annie. 

Isaac  did  not  believe  it  would,  and  with  all  a  woman's 
tenderness  he  bound  it  up  and  held  his  canteen  to  the 
iips  of  the  fainting,  weary  man,  whispering, 

"  Water,  boy,  water." 

Isaac  had  not,  like  many  others,  thrown  his  canteen 
away,  and  he  gave  freely  to  the  thirsty  George,  who, 
with  each  draught,  felt  his  pulse  grow  stronger,  while 
his  eyes  kindled  with  fresh  zeal  as  the  noise  of  the  battle 
grew  louder,  and  seemed  to  be  coming  nearer.  The  on- 
slaught was  terrible  now.  Cannon  after  cannon  belched 
forth  its  terrific  thunder,  ball  after  ball  sped  on  its  deadly 
track,  battery  after  battery  opened  its  blazing  fire,  shell 
after  shell  cut  the  summer  air,  and  burst  with  murderous 
hiss  ;  shout  after  shout  rent  the  smoky  sky,  shriek  after 
shriek  went  down  with  the  rushing  wind,  officer  after 
officer  bit  the  dust,  rank  after  rank  was  broken  up,  soul 
after  soul  went  to  the  bar  of  God,  and  then  there  came 
a  pause.  The  firing  ceased,  the  stifling  smoke  roUed 
gradually  away,  and  showed  a  dreadful  sight, — men  mu- 
5 


98  ROSE  MATHER. 

tilated  and  torn,  till  not  a  vestige  of  their  former  looks 
was  left  to  tell  who  they  had  been.  Mingled  together^ 
in  one  frightful  mass,  the  dead  and  dying  lay,  smiles 
wreathing  the  hvid  lips  of  some,  and  frowns  disfiguring 
others.  Arms,  hands,  and  feet,  heads,  fijigers,  toes,  and 
clots  of  human  hair,  dripping  red  with  blood,  were  scat- 
tered over  the  field, — parts  of  the  Hving  mass  we  saw  but 
a  few  hours  agone  moving  x)n  so  hopefully  beneath  the 
morning moonhght,  "Like  leaves  of  the  forest  when  au- 
tumn hath  blown,"  they  lay  there  now,  their  mangled  re- 
mains crying  loudly  to  Heaven  for  vengeance  on  the 
heads  of  those  who  brought  this  curse  upon  us. 


CHAPTEE  VnL 

THE    RETREAT. 


W^ 


HE  day  was  ours,  nobly  won  with  sweat  and  toil 
r^^5l  and  blood,  and  the  brave  men  who  won  it  were 
thinking  of  the  laurels  so  laboriously  earned, 
when  suddenly  the  entire  scale  was  turned,  and  ere  they 
knew  what  they  were  doing,  the  tired,  jaded  troops  found 
themselves  rushing  headlong  from  the  battle-field,  never 
so  much  as  casting  a  backward  glance,  but  each  striving 
to  out -run  the  other,  and  so  escape  from  they  knew  not 
what !  How  that  panic  happened  no  one  can  tell.  Some 
charged  it  to  the  reckless  conduct  of  a  band  of  Regulars 
sent  back  for  ammunition,  and  others  upon  the  idle 
lookers-on,  the  curious  ones,  who  had  come  "  to  see  the 
Rebels,  whipped,"  and  who  at  the  first  intimation  of  de- 


THE  BETREAT.  99 

feat  joined  in  tlie  general  stampede,  making  the  confu- 
sion worse,  and  adding  greatly  to  the  fright  of  the  flying 
multitude. 

It  was  a  strange  retreat  onr  soldiers  made.  All  law 
and  order  were  at  an  end,  company  mixed  with 
company,  regiment  with  regiment,  and  together  they 
rushed  headlong  down  the  hill,  many  in  their 'dismay 
fording  the  creek  regardless  of  the  shot  and  shell  sent 
after  them  by  the  astonished  foe,  now  really  in  pur- 
suit. 

Some  there  were,  however,  who  made  the  retreat  more 
leisurely,  and  among  these.  Bill  Baker.  Eemembering 
the  mark  he  had  fixed  in  his  own  mind,  he  sought  among 
the  slain  for  Harry,  finding  him  at  last,  trampled  and 
crushed  by  the  flying  troops,  and  wholly  unrecognizable 
by  any  save  a  brother's  eye.  BiU  knew  him,  however, 
in  a  moment,  but  there  was  no  time  now  to  "  do  the  ten- 
der," as  he  had  purposed  doing.  There  was  danger  in 
tarrying  long,  and  with  a  shudder  BUI  bent  over  the 
mangled  form,  and  with  his  jack-knife  severed  a  lock  of 
matted,  bloodwet  hair,  taking  also  from  the  pockets 
whatever  of  value  they  contained,  not  from  any  avari- 
cious motive,  but  rather  from  a  feeling  that  the  rebels 
should  get  nothing  save  the  body. 

"  A  darned  sight  good  Hal's  carcass  will  do  ye !"  he 
said,  shaking  his  fist  defiantly  in  the  direction  of  the  foe, 
*'  but  the  wust  is  your  own  this  hot  weather,  if  you  don't 
bury  him  decently;"  then  turning  to  the  lifeless  gore,  he 
continued:  "Poor  Hal!  I'm  kinder  sorry  you  are  dead. 
You  had  now  and  then  a  streak  of  good  about  you,  and 
Tm  sorry  we  ever  quarreled,  I  be,  upon  my  word,  and  I 
wish  you  could  hear  me  say  so;  but  you  can't,  knocked 
into  a  cocked  up  hat  as  you  are,  poor  HaL     If  there  was 


100  ROSE  MATHER. 

a  spot  on  your  face  as  big  as  a  sixpence  that  wasn't 
smashed  into  a  jelly,  I'd  kiss  you  just  for  the  old  woman's 
sake,  but  I  swan  if  I  can  stomach  it!  I  might  your 
hands,  perhaps,"  and  bending  lower,  Bill's  lips  touched 
the  clammy  fingers  of  the  dead. 

There  was  something  in  the  touch  which  brought  to 
Bill's  heart  a  pang  similar  to  the  one  ho  felt  when  he 
saw  his  brother  faU,  and  rising  to  his  feet,  he  said, 
mournfully : 

"  Good-bye,  old  Hal,  I'm  going  now ;  I  wish  you  might 
go,  too.  Good-bye,"  and  wiping  away  a  tear  which  felt 
much  out  of  place  on  his  rough  cheek,  Bill  walked  away, 
saying  to  himself,  "  Poor  Hal.  I  didn't  s'pose  I  had 
such  a  hankerin'  for  him.  Didn't  s'pose  I  cared  for 
nobody;  but  such  a  day's  work  as  this  finds  the  soft  spot 
in  a  feller's  heart  if  he's  got  any.  Poor  Hal !  Mother'll 
nigh  about  raise  the  ruff  V 

Thus  soliloquizing  Bill  moved  on,  not  rapidly  as  others 
did,  but  rather  leisurely  than  otherwise.  He  seemed  to 
be  benumbed,  and  did  not  care  much  what  became  of 
himself.  Wading  the  stream  he  trudged  on,  now  won- 
dering "What  the  plague  they  aU  were  running  for, 
when  they'd  got  the  rascals  licked,"  and  again  anathe- 
matizing the  shot  which  feU  around  him. 

"  S'pose  I  care  for  you,"  he  said,  hitting  a  spent  ball  a 
kick.  "  S'pose  I  care  if  I  do  get  killed  ?  better  do  that 
than  to  run." 

Then  reflecting  that  to  be  shot  in  the  hack  was  not 
considered  a  distinguished  mark  of  honor,  he  hastened 
his  lagging  steps  until  the  shelter  of  the  wood  was 
reached.  Bill  was  very  tired,  and  feehng  comparatively 
safe,  determined  not  to  travel  farther  until  he  had  had 
some  rest.     Hunting  out  a  thick  clump  of  underbrush, 


THE  EETREAT.  101 

near  a  stream  of  water,  where  he  would  be  sheltered 
from  observation,  he  crawled  into  its  midst,  and  was  ere 
long  sleeping  soundly,  wholly  obli^dous  to  the  strange 
sights  and  sounds  around  him,  as  squad  after  squad  of 
soldiers  hurried  by. 

Meanwhile  George  Graham  was  sitting  faint  and  weary 
beneath  the  tree,  when  the  first  token  of  the  retreat  met 
his  view. 

"  See,  they  are  running,"  Isaac  said,  gi-asping  his 
sound  arm  in  some  affiight.  "Let  us  run,  too.  You 
lean  on  me,  and  I'll  lead  you  safely  through." 

With  a  bitter  groaii,  George  attempted  to  rise,  but 
sank  back  again  from  utter  exhaustion.  A  species  of 
apathy  had  stolen  over  him,  and  he  would  rather  stay 
there  and  die,  he  said,  than  make  the  attempt  to  llee. 
He  did  not  think  of  Annie,  until  Isaac,  bending  down, 
said,  entreatingly  : 

*'  It  will  be  horrid  for  Annie  to  know  you  died,  when 
you  might  have  got  away.  Try  for  Annie's  sake,  can't 
you?" 

Yes,  for  Annie's  sake  he  could,  and  at  the  mere  men- 
of  her  name,  the  dim  eye  kindled,  and  the  pale  cheeks 
glowed,  while  the  wounded  man  made  another  effort  to 
rise.  He  succeeded  this  time,  and  with  slow  steps  the 
two  commenced  their  retreat.  It  was  a  novel  sight,  that 
taU,  muscular  man,  towering  head  and  shoulders  above 
the  frail  boy,  upon  whom  he  leaned  heavily  for  support, 
— the  generous  Isaac,  who  would  not  leave  him  there 
alone,  even  though  he  knew  the  danger  he  was  incurring 
for  himself. 

"  They'U  treat  us  decent  if  we're  taken  prisoners,  won't 
they,  think  ?"  he  asked,  as  the  possibility  of  such  a  calam- 
ity was  suggested  to  his  mind. 


102  ROSE  MATHER 

Not  till  then  had  George  thought  of  that.  They 
would  not  murder  a  wounded  man,  he  was  sure,  but 
they  might  take  him  prisoner,  and  death  itself  was  al- 
most preferable  to  days  of  captivity  and  sickening  sus- 
pense away  from  Annie.  The  very  idea  roused  him  into 
life,  and  with  a  superhuman  effort,  he  hastened  on,  al- 
most outrunning  Isaac,  until  they,  too,  had  reached  the 
friendly  woods  where  Bill  had  already  taken  shelter. 
Just  then  a  loaded  wagon  passed  them,  its  frightened, 
excited  occupants  paying  no  heed  to  Isaac's  cry  for  help, 
until  one  whose  uniform  showed  him  to  be  an  officer, 
sprang  up,  exclaiming : 

"  The  strong  must  give  place  to  the  wounded.  I  can 
find  my  way  to  "Washington  better  than  that  bleeding 
man!"  and  Tom  Carleton  seized  the  reins  with  a  grasp 
which  brought  the  foaming  steeds  nearly  to  their 
haunches.  The  vehicle  was  stopped,  and  the  next  in- 
stant Tom  had  leaped  upon  the  ground,  spraining  his 
ankle  severely,  and  reelicg  in  his  first  pain  against  the 
astounded  Isaac,  who  cried  out,  joyfully  : 

"  Oh,  Captain  Carleton,  save  Lieutenant  Graham,  won't 
you?     "We  can  walk,  you  and  I." 

Tom  had  not  the  least  suspicion  as  to  whom  he  was 
befriending  until  then,  and  now,  unmindful  of  his  own 
aching  foot,  he  assisted  George  to  the  seat  he  had  -vacat- 
ed, and  watched  the  party  without  a  pang  as  they  drove 
rapidly  away,  leaving  him  alone  with  Isaac. 

"We'll  do  the  best  we  can,  my  boy,"  he  said,  cheerily, 
as  he  met  the  confiding,  inquiring  look  bent  upon  him 
by  Isaac,  who,  relieved  of  his  former  charge,  felt  now 
like  leaning  for  protection  and  guidance  upon  Captain 
Carleton. 

Alas,  his  hopes  were  short-lived,  for  a  groan  just  then 
escaped  from  Tom's  white  lips,  wrung  out  by  the  agony 


THE  BETEEAT.  103 

it  cost  him  to  step.  Isaac  saw  him  stagger  when  he 
sprang  to  the  ground,  and  comprehending  the  case  at 
once,  he  resumed  his  burden  of  care,  and  kneeling  be- 
fore poor  Tom,  who  had  sunk  upon  the  grass,  he  rubbed 
the  swollen  limb  as  tenderly  as  Rose  herself  could  have 
done. 

"If  we  could  only  find  some  water,"  Tom  said,  scan- 
ning the  appearance  of  the  woods,  and  judging  at  last  by 
indications  which  seldom  failed,  that  there  must  be  some 
not  very  far  away.  "  There  where  the  bushes  are,"  he 
said,  pointing  toward  the  very  spot  where  Bill  lay 
snoring  soundly,  and  dreaming  of  robbing  Parson 
Goodwin's  orchard,  in  company  with  Hal.  "  There  must 
be  water  there,  and  human  beings  too,  for  I  hear  singing, 
don't  you?" 

Isaac  hstened  tiU  he,  too,  caught  a  strain  of  melody,  as 
sad  and  low  as  if  it  were  a  funeral  dirge  some  one  was 
trilling  there. 

"What  can  it  mean  ?"  Tom  said.  "  Lend  me  your 
hand,  my  boy,  and  I'U  soon  find  out." 

It  was  a  harder  task  to  move  than  he  anticipated,  for 
the  ankle  was  swelling  rapidly,  and  bearing  the  least 
weight  upon  it  made  the  pain  intolerable.  Leaning  on 
.  Isaac's  shoulder,  he  managed  to  make  slow  progress  to- 
ward the  stream  bubbling  so  deliciously  among  the 
grass,  and  toward  the  music  growing  more  and  more  dis- 
tinct. 

It  was  reached  at  last,  and  the  mystery  was  solved. 
Leaning  against  a  tree  was  a  Confederate  officer,  whose 
white  face  told  plainer  than  words  could  tell  that  never 
again  would  *he  be  seen  in  the  pine-shadowed  home  he 
had  left  so  unwillingly  but  a  few  months  before.  Beside 
him  upon  the  grass  lay  a  boy,  scarcely  more  than  twelve 
years  old,  a   drummer  in  a  company  of  New  England 


104  ROSE   MATHER. 

Toltmteers,  both  little  hands  shot  entirely  off,  and  the 
bleeding  stumps  bound  carefully  up  in  the  handkerchief 
of  the  Rebel,  who  had  smothered  his  own  dying  anguish 
for  the  sake  of  comforting  that  poor  child,  sobbing  so 
piteously  with  pain. 

"  I  didn't  s'pose  any  of  you  was  so  good,  or  I  shouldn't 
have  come  to  fight  you.  Oh,  mother,  mother,  they  do 
ache  so, — ^my  hands, — my  hands!"  he  said,  the  cry  oi 
contrition  ending  in  a  childish  wail  for  the  mother  sym- 
pathy never  more  to  be  experienced  by  that  drummer 
boy. 

A  smile  flitted  across  the  officer's  face  as  he  replied: 
"  'Had  we  all  known  each  other  better,  this  war  would 
not  have  been,"  and  the  noble  foe  held  the  boy  closer  to 
his  bleeding  bosom,  dipping  his  hand  in  the  running 
stream,  and  laving  the  feveiish  brow  where  the  drops 
of  sweat  were  standing. 

"What  makes  you  so  kind  to  me?"  the  dying  boy 
asked,  his  dim  eyes  gazing  wistfuUy  into  the  face  bid- 
ing so  sadly  over  him. 

"  I  have  a  boy  about  your  size, — Charlie  we  call  him," 
the  stranger  said. 

"  And  I  am  Charlie,  too,"  the  child  replied,  "  Charlie 
Younglove,  and  my  home  is  in  New  Hampshire,  right  on 
the  mountain  side.  Father  is  dead,  and  we  are  poor, 
mother  and  I.  That's  why  I  came  to  the  war.  I  wanted 
to  go  to  college,  sometime.  Do  you  think  I'll  die  ?  Will 
I  never  go  home  again  ? — never  see  mother  nor  little  sis- 
ter either?" 

The  soldier  groaned,  and  bent  still  closer  to  the  drum- 
mer-boy, asking  so  earnestly  if  he  must  die.  How  could 
he  tell  him  yes,  and  yet  he  felt  he  must;  he  would  not 
be  faithful  to  his  trust  if  he  withheld  the  knowledge,  or 
failed  to  point  that  dying  one  to  the  only  source  of  Hfe. 


THE  RETREAT.  105 

"  Yes,  Charlie,"  lie  answered,  mournfully,  "  I  think  you 
■wilL  Are  you  afraid  to  die?  Did  your  mother  nevei 
tell  you  of  the  Saviour  ?*' 

*'  Yes,  yes,  oh  yes  !"  and  the  little  face  lighted  up  as  ai 
the  mention  of  a  dear  friend.  "  I  went  to  Sunday  School, 
and  learned  of  Jesus  there.  I've  prayed  to  him  everj 
night  and  every  morning  since  I  came  from  home.  1 
promised  her  I  would, — mother,  I  mean, — and  she  prays, 
too.  She  said  so  in  her  letter,  right  here  in  my  jacket 
pocket.     Don't  you  want  to  read  it  ?'* 

The  officer  shook  his  head,  and  Charlie  went  on  : 

"  I  didn't  want  to  fight  to-day,  because  I  knew  it  was 
Sunday,  but  I  had  to,  or  run  away.  'WiLl  God  pimish 
me  for  that,  think  ?    Will  he  turn  me  out  of  Heaven  ?" 

"No,  no,  oh  no!"  and  the  North  Carolinian's  tears 
dropped  like  rain  upon  the  troubled  face,  upturned  so 
anxiously  to  his.  "Grod  will  never  punish  those  who 
put  their  trust  in  Jesus." 

"I  do,  I  do,  I  do!"  and  the  trembhng  voice  grew 
fainter,  adding,  after  a  pause:  "You  are  a  good  man,  I 
know.  You  have  been  to  Sunday  School,  I  guess,  and 
you  prayed  this  morning,  didn't  you  ?" 

The  soldier  answered,  "  Yes,"  and  the  child  continued : 

"  You  are  dying,  too,  I  'most  know,  for  there's  blood 
all  over  us.  We'll  go  together,  won't  we,  you  and  I? 
Will  there  be  war  in  Heaven,  between  the  North  and 
South?" 

"  No,  Charlie.  There  is  naught  but  peace  in  Heaven," 
and  again  the  white  hands  laved  the  feverish  forehead, 
for  the  soldier  would  fain  keep  that  Httle  spirit  till  his 
could  join  it  company,  and  speed  away  to  the  land  where 
trouble  is  unknown. 

But  it  could  not  be,  for  CharHe's  life  was  ebbing  away ; 
the  last  sand  was  dropping  from  the  glass.  Closer  the 
5* 


106  ROSE  MATHER. 

fair  curly  head  nestled  to  its  strange  pillow, — the  bleed- 
ing bosom  of  a  foe, — and  the  lips  mui'mured  incoherent- 
ly of  the  elm-trees  gi'owing  near  the  mountain  home,  and 
the  mother  watching  daily  for  tidings  of  her  boy.  Tlien 
the  train  of  thought  was  changed,  and  Charhe  heard  the 
hell,  just  as  it  pealed  that  morning  from  his  own  village 
spire.  How  grand  the  music  was  echoing  through  the 
Virginia  woods,  and  the  blue  eyes  closed,  as  with  a 
whisper  he  asked: 

"Don't  you  hear  the  old  bell  at  home,  calling  the 
folks  to  church  ?  It  has  stopped  now,  and  the  children 
are  singing  before  the  organ,  *  Glory  to  God  on  high.*  I 
used  to  sing  it  with  them.  Do  you  know  it,  *  Gloria  in 
excelsis  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes !"  the  soldier  eagerly  rephed,  glad  to  find 
they  were  both  of  the  same  faith, — that  little  Yankee 
boy,  born  among  the  granite  hills,  and  he  a  North  Car- 
olinian, born  on  Southern  soil. 

"  Then  sing  it,"  Charlie  whispered  ;  "  sing  it,  won't 
you  ?     Maybe  I'll  go  to  sleep.     I  don't  ache  any  now.'* 

With  a  mighty  effort  the  soldier  forced  down  his  bit- 
ter gi'ief,  and  in  a  low,  mournful  tone,  commenced  our 
beautiful  church  chant,  the  dying  child  for  whom  he 
sang,  faintly  joining  with  him  for  a  time,  but  the  sweet 
voice  ceased  ere  long,  the  curly  head  pressed  heavier,  the 
bleeding  stumps  lay  motionless,  and  when  the  chant  was 
ended,  Charlie  had  gone  to  his  last  sleep. 

Carefully,  reverently,  the  Noi-th  Cafohnian  laid  the 
httle  form  upon  the  grass,  and  kissed  the  stiffened  hps 
for  the  sake  of  the  mother,  who  might  neyer  know  just 
how  Charlie  died. 

Just  then  footsteps  sounded  near.  Tom  and  Isaac 
were  coming,  and  the  face  of  the  soldier  darkened  when 
he  saw  them,  as  if  they  had  been  intruders  upon  him  and 


THE  RETKEAT.  107 

his  beautiful  dead.  Their  appearance,  however,  disarmed 
him  at  once,  and  with  a  faint  smile  he  pointed  to  his 
companion,  and  said  : 

"He  was  in  the  Federal  army  two  hours  ago;  he  has 
joined  God's  army  now.  Poor  Charlie!  I  would  have 
done  much  to  save  him !"  and  with  his  hand  he  smoothed 
the  golden  hair,  on  which  the  flecks  of  western  sunshine 
lay. 

Isaac  knew  it  was  a  Rebel  speaking  to  him,  and  for  an 
instant  he  experienced  the  same  sensation  he  had  felt  in 
the  midst  of  the  fray,  but  only  for  an  instant,  for  though 
he  knew  it  was  a  sworn  foe,  he  knew,  too,  that  'twas  a 
noble-hearted  man,  and  with  a  pitying  glance  at  the 
dead,  he  asked  if  aught  could  be  done  for  the  living. 

"No,"  and  the  soldier  smiled  again;  "my  passport  is 
sealed;  I  am  going  after  Charlie.  Some  one  of  your  men 
did  his  work  well — see !"  and  opening  his  coat,  he  dis- 
closed the  frightful  wound  from  which  the  dark  blood 
was  gushing. 

Then,  in  a  few  words  he  had  told  them  Charlie's  story, 
adding  in  conclusion, 

"You  wiU  escape;  you  wiU  go  home  again:  and  if  you 
do,  write  to  Charhe's  mother,  and  tell  her  how  he  died. 
Tell  her  not  to  w^eep  for  him  so  early  saved.  Her  letter 
is  in  his  pocket:  take  it  as  a  guide  where  to  direct  your 
own." 

This  he  said  to  Isaac,  for  he  saw  Tom  was  disabled. 
Isaac  did  as  he  was  bidden,  and  the  letter  from  Charlie's 
mother,  written  but  a  week  before,  was  safely  put  away 
for  future  reference,  and  then  Isaac  did  for  the  North 
Carohna  soldier  what  the  North  Carolina  soldier  had  done 
for  the  Yankee  boy :  he  staunched  the  flowing  blood  as  best 
he  could,  bathed  the  throbbing  head,  and  held  the  cool- 
ing water  to  the  diy,  parched  hps,  which  feebly  murmured 
their  thanks. 


108  BOSE  AlATHER. 

The  stranger  saw  the  distinction  there  was  between 
his  new-found  friends,  and  feeling  that  Tom  was  the  one 
to  whom  he  must  appeal,  he  tui'ned  his  glazed  eyes  upon 
him,  and  said: 

"  Whose  government  will  answer  for  all  this,  yours  oi 
the  one  that  I  acknowledge  ?" 

"Both,  both!"  Tom  rephed  vehemently;  and  the 
stranger  rejoined: 

"Yes,  both  have  much  to  answer  for, — one  for  not 
yielding  a  httle  more,  and  the  other  for  its  rash  impetu- 
osity. Oh,  had  we,  as  a  people,  know  each  other;  could 
we  have  guessed  what  brave,  kind  hearts  there  were  both 
North  and  South,  we  should  never  have  come  to  this; 
but  we  beheved  our  leaders  too  much;  trusted  too  impli- 
citly in  the  dastardly  falsehoods  of  a  lying  press;  and  it 
has  brought  us  here.  For  myself  I  am  willing  to  die  in 
a  good  cause;  and  of  course  I  think  ours  is  just;  exactly 
as  you  think  of  yours;  but  who  will  care  for  my  poor 
NeUie  I  left  in  my  Southern  home  ?  "VMiat  splendid  vic- 
tory can  repay  her  for  the  husband  she  will  lose  ere  yon- 
der sun  has  set,  or  what  can  compensate  my  daughter 
Maude  or  my  boy  CharHe  for  their  loss  ? 

The  North  Carolinian  paused  from  exhaustion,  and 
Tom  essayed  to  comfort  him. 

Bending  over  him,  and  supporting  the  drooping  head 
which  dropped  lower  and  lower,  the  hps  whispering  of 
NeUy,  of  Maud  and  Charhe,  and  of  the  Tar  Eiver  wind- 
ing past  their  door,  until  there  seemed  no  longer  Life  in 
that  once  vigorous  frame. 

"  He's  dead,"  Isaac  was  about  to  say,  but  the  words 
froze  on  his  Hps,  for  in  the  distance  he  caught  sight  of 
two  other  men  coming  towards  them, — one  strong  and 
powerful,  the  other  shght  and  girHsh-looking.  Tom  saw 
them,  too,  and  turning  to  Isaac,  said  hurriedly, 


THE  RETEEAT.  109 

"Ran,  mj  boy,  and  leave  me.  They  will  think  far 
more  of  capturing  an  officer  than  a  private.  You  can  es- 
cape as  well  as  not, — run,  quick. '- 

But  Isaac  would  share  Capt.  Carleton*s  fate,  whatever 
that  might  be,  and  with  a  deep  flush  on  his  boyish  face, 
he  drew  nearer  to  his  companion  and  stood  gazing  defi- 
antly at  the  Kebels  as  they  came  up. 

"We  have  nothing  to  hope,"  Tom  whispered,  "but 
we'll  sell  ourselves  dearly  as  possible,"  and  bracing  him- 
self against  the  tree,  he  prepared  to  do  battle,  refusing 
at  oncG  the  bullying  Rebel's  command, 

"  Surrender  or  die." 

"Never!"  was  the  firm  response,  and  while  Isaac  en- 
gaged hand  to  hand  with  the  smaller  of  the  two,  Tom 
parried  skillfully  each  thnist  of  his  antagonist,  who  ac- 
cused him  of  having  murdered  the  North  Carolina  offi- 
cer lying  near. 

Both  Tom  and  Isaac  had  thought  the  stranger  dead, 
but  at  this  accusation  the  white  Hps  quivered,  and  whis- 
pered faintly,  "  No,  no,  they  were  kind  to  me,  the  officer 
and  the  boy." 

For  an  instant  the  Rebel's  uplifted  hand  was  stayed, 
and  it  is  difficult  to  say  what  the  result  might  have  been 
had  not  another  voice  called  through  the  leafy  woods, 
"  No  quarter  to  the  Yankee !" 

Tom's  cheek  blanched  to  an  unnatural  whiteness,  as 
with  partial  Hps  and  flashing  eyes  he  watched  the  new 
comer  hastening  to  the  rescue,  the  handsome,  graceful 
stranger,  whose  appearance  riveted  Isaac's  attention  at 
once,  causing  him  to  gaze  spell-bound  upon  the  face  of 
the  advancing  foe,  as  if  it  were  one  he  had  seen  before. 
How  handsome  that  young  man  was,  with  his  saucy, 
laughing  eyes  of  black,  his  soft,  silken  curls  of  hair,  and 
that  air  of  self-assurance,  which  bespoke  a  daring,  reck- 


110  EOSE  MATHER. 

less  spirit.  Isaac  could  not  remove  his  eyes  from  the 
young  Rebel,  and  his  late  antagonist  met  with  no  resist- 
ance, as  he  passed  his  arms  around  him  and  held  him 
prisoner  at  last.  Isaac  did  not  even  think  of  himself; 
his  thoughts  were  all  upon  the  stranger,  at  whom  poor 
Tom  sat  gazing,  half  bewildered,  and  trying  once  to 
stretch  his  arms  toward  him,  while  the  lips  essayed  to 
speak.  But  the  words  he  would  have  uttered  died  away 
as  a  sudden  faintness  stole  over  him,  when  he  saw  that 
he  was  recognized.  There  was  a  violent  start, — a  fading 
out  of  the  bright  color  on  the  Rebel's  cheek,  and  Isaac, 
still  watching  him,  heard  him  exclaim,  "  No,  no,  not  him, 
leave  him  alone,"  while  at  the  same  time  he  attempted 
to  free  Tom  from  the  firm  grasp  the  enemy  now  had 
upon  him. 

With  an  oath  the  soldier  shook  him  off,  then  rudely 
bade  his  half-senseless  victim  rise  and  follow  as  a  pris- 
oner of  war.  And  Tom,  unmindful  of  the  pain,  arose 
without  a  word,  and  leaning  heavily  upon  his  captor, 
hobbled  on,  caring  little  now,  it  would  seem,  what  fate 
was  in  reserve  for  him.  He  seemed  benumbed,  and  only 
an  occasional  groan,  which  Isaac  fancied  was  wrung  out 
by  pain,  told  that  he  was  conscious  of  anything. 

"  He's  lame,"  Isaac  cried,  the  hot  tears  raining  over 
his  face,  while  he  begged  of  them  to  stop,  or  at  least  to 
carry  poor  Capt.  Carleton,  if  they  must  go  on.  "  I  won't 
run  away,"  he  said,  imploringly  to  his  own  captor,  feel- 
ing intuitively  that  his  was  the  kinder  nature.  "  Don't 
be  afraid  of  me.  I'll  help  you  carry  him  if  necessaiy. 
Do  have  some  pity.  He's  fainting,  see!"'  and  Isaac  al- 
most shrieked  as  poor  Tom  sunk  upon  the  grass,  utterly 
unable  to  move  another  step.  They  must  carry  him  now 
or  leave  him  there,  and  anxious  for  the  honor  a  captured 
officer  of  Tom  Carleton's  evident  rank  in  life  would  con- 


THE  BETEEAT.  Ill 

fer  upon  them,  the  Eebels  availed  themselves  of  Isaac's 
proffered  aid,  and  the  three,  bearing  their  heavy  burden, 
moved  slowly  on  until  far  beyond  the  bushes  by  the 
stream,  where  the  other  soldier  sat  upon  the  ground,  his 
laughing  black  eyes  heavy  with  tears,  and  his  heart 
throbbing  with  a  keener  pain  than  he  had  ever  known  be- 
fore. 

"  I  was  wrong  to  let  him  go,"  he  said  aloud.  "  Three 
against  two  would  surely  have  carried  the  day,  and  that 
boy  at  his  side  was  brave,  I  know.  But  it  cannot  now  be 
helped.  He  is  their  prisoner,  and  all  that  remains  for 
me  to  do  is  to  see  that  the  best  of  treatment  comes  to  him 
until  he  is  released.  But  what!  are  the  dead  coming 
back  to  life  ?"  and  the  soldier  started  up  as  he  caught  a 
sound  of  bending  twigs  neai*  by. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE  EEBEL  AND  THE  YANKEE. 


^  ILL  BAKER  was  awake  at  last,  and  from  hishid- 
^  ing  place  had  seen  Capt.  Carleton  and  Isaac  dis- 
c^S«^    appear  beneath  the  trees  in  the  distance. 

"They  are  goners,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "Won't 
that  snap  dragon  of  a  widow  be  mad,  though,  when  she 
hears  how  they've  got  Ike.  Poor  Ike,  I'd  help  him  if  I 
could,  but  'taint  no  use  interferin'  now,"  and  with  this 
reflection.  Bill  turned  his  attention  toward  the  stranger, 
watching  him  for  several  minutes,  first  to  decide  his 
politics,  and  second,  to  calculate  his  probable  strength. 
The  soldier  was  at  least  a  head  taller  than  Bill,  who  nev' 


112  ROSE   MATHER. 

ertlieless  far  exceeded  him  in  strength  of  muscle  and  pow- 
er of  endurance. 

"  I  can  manage  him,"  was  Bill's  contemptuous  comment, 
and  feehng  in  his  pocket  for  the  strong  cord  Bose  Mather 
had  bound  round  his  paper  parcel  of  turnovers  and 
cheese,  he  prepai'ed  to  spring  upon  his  foe  in  the  rear 
and  take  him  by  surprise. 

The  cracking  twigs  betrayed  him,  and  changing  his 
tactics  he  walked  directly  in  front  of  the  astonished  young 
man,  who,  with  heightened  color,  haughtily  demanded 
"  what  he  was  doing  there, — and  whether  he  were  a  friend 
or  foe." 

"  What  am  I  doin'  here  ?"  Bill  repeated,  sticking  his 
cap  a  Httle  more  to  one  side,  and  half  shutting  one  of  his 
wicked  grey  eyes,  ' '  Kinder  peekin'  round  to  see  what  I 
can  find.  Be  I  friend  or  foe  ?  You  must  be  green  to  ask 
that.  Don't  you  re-cog-nize  my  regimentals,  made  after 
the  cut  of  Uncle  Sam,  ailed  some,  to  be  sure,  but  then 
I've  Jbeen  at  a  dirty  job, — been  hckin'  jest  such  scamjDS  as 
you.  Now,  then,  corporal,  seein'  I  answered  you  civil, 
what  are  you  doin'  here  ?  You  won't  answer  me,  hey  ?'* 
he  continued,  as  the  stranger  deigned  him  no  other  reply 
than  a  look  of  ineffable  disdain.  "  Wall,  then,  if  you're 
so  'fraid  of  your  tongue,  s'posin'  we  try  a  rastle,  rough 
and  tumble,  you  know  ;  and  the  one  that  gits  beat  is 
t'other 's  prisoner.  That's  fair,  as  these  dead  folks  will 
witness;"  and  BiU's  glance  for  the  first  time  fell  upon  the 
bodies  l^-ing  near  them, — upon  Charhe's  childish  face, 
with  the  golden  curls  clustering  around  it. 

The  sight  touched  a  tender  chord  in  Bill,  and  forget- 
ting for  a  moment  his  new  acquaintance,  he  bent  over 
the  drummer  boy,  murmuring, 

"  Poor  child,  ycur  folks  or'to  have  been  ashamed  to  let 
you  come  to  war." 


THE  REBEL  AND  THE  YANKEE.         113 

Now  was  the  Kebel's  time.  He  felt  intuitiyely  that  he 
was  no  match  for  the  thick-set,  brawny  BiU.  Safety  lay 
alone  in  flight,  and  with  a  sudden  bound  he  fled  hke  a 

deer. 

"Nuff  said,"  dropped  from  Bill's  Ups,  and  the  nest  in- 
stant he,  too,  was  flying  through  the  woods  in  pursuit  of 

the  foe. 

It  proved  an  unequal  race,  and  Bill's  strong  arms  ere 
long  closed  Hke  a  vice  around  the  struggling  soldier,  who 
resisted  manfully,  until  resistance  was  vain,  and  then 
sullenly  stood  still,  while  Bill  fastened  his  hands  behind 
him,  with  the  cords  unwittingly  furnished  by  Kose  Ma- 
ther ! 

«  Don't  squii-m  so,  corporal,"  BiU  said,  as  he  bound  the 
knots  securely,  with  his  knee  upon  the  back  of  the  stran- 
ger, whom  he  had  thrown  upon  his  face.     ^' Don't  squirm 
so  like  an  eel  and  I'll  be  done  the  quicker.     I  calkerlate 
to  tie  you  so  you  can't  git  away,   and  you  may  as  well 
hold  on.     Got  kinder  dehcate  hands,  haint  you  ?    Never 
done  nothin',  I  guess,  but  hck  niggers  and  shute  your 
betters.     There,  you  may  stan'  up  now  if  you  want  tew." 
The  young  man  struggled  to  his  feet,  saying,  proudly  : 
«  What  do  you  intend  doing  next,  sir  ?" 
"What  do  I  intend  doin' ?"  BiU  repUed,  with  imper- 
turbable gravity.     ^'I  intend  leadin'  you  by  this  string- 
inter  camp,  and  showin'  you  up  for  to'pence  a   sight. 
What  d'ye  s'pose  I  intended  doin'  ?" 

The  young  man  made  one  more  desperate  struggle  to 
free  himself,  but  the  twine  only  cut  into  his  flesh,  making 
the  matter  worse,  so  he  finally  submitted  to  his  fate,  and 
suffered  BUI  to  take  him  where  he  Hsted.  BiU  was  m  no 
hui-ry  to  get  to  camp.  He  rather  enjoyed  being  alone 
with  his  prisoner,  and  leading  him  to  a  little  thicket  he 
made  him  sit  down,  and  placing  one  of  his  feet  upon  him 
he  began  to  ask  him  innumerable  questions,— what  was 


114  ROSE  MATHER. 

his  name,  where  did  he  come  from,  what  company  was  he 
in,  and  bo  on,  to  none  of  which  did  the  stranger  vouch- 
safe a  reply. 

With  a  haughty  look  upon  his  handsome  face,  he 
maintained  a  rigid  silence,  while  Bill  continued  : 

"  Needn't  talk  unless  you  want  to.  Speech  is  free  with 
us,  you  know;  but  seein'  you  won't  tell  who  you  be, 
maybe  you  wouldn't  mind  hearing  my  geneolo^.  It'll 
make  you  feel  better,  mabby,  to  know  my  reputation  and 
standin'  in  society.  Corporal,  did  you  ever  hear  of  a 
Yankee,  a  real  Hve  mudsill  Yankee,  such  as  Southern 
gentlemen  feel  above  fightin'  with  ?  Wall,  I'm  that  crit- 
ter.    What  do  you  think  of  me,  take  me  as  a  hull  ?" 

The  stranger  groaned  in  disgust,  and  Bill  continued  : 

"Them  cords  hurt  you,  I  guess.  Like  enough  I'll 
ease  'em  up  a  trifle,  if  you  say  so.  I  ain't  hard-hearted,  if 
I  be  rough  as  a  nutmeg-grater.  Shall  I  loosen  'em  so's 
not  to  hurt  them  soft,  baby  hands  of  youi'n  ?" 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  I  don't  mind  it  in  the  least,"  was 
the  soldier's  answer,  though  all  the  while  the  coarse 
twine  was  cutting  cruelly  into  the  tender  flesh. 

This  Bill  suspected,  and  muttering  to  himself: 

"  Good  grit,  if  he  is  a  Kebel,"  he  went  on:  "  Consider- 
able top-lofty,  ain't  you,  corporal?  And  as  chaps  of 
your  cloth  like  to  meet  with  their  equals,  I'll  go  on  with 
my  history.  I  was  bom  in  Massachusetts,  not  over  a 
day's  ride  from  Boston.     Ever  been  to  Boston  ?' 

No  answer  from  the  stranger,  save  a  heightened  color, 
and  Bill  proceeded: 

"  Tall  old  town.  Got  a  smashin'  monument  out  to 
Charlestown.  Heard  on't  I  s'pose,  as  I  take  it  some  of 
you  Southern  dogs  can  read.  Wall,  father  died  in  State's 
Prison  down  there  to  Charlestown,  and  then  we  moved 
to  Eockland,  the  old  woman,  Hal  and  me.  Hal's  lyin* 
up  there  where  the  hottest  of  the  fight  took  place,  and 


THE  EEBEL  AND  THE  TAXKEE.  115 

I'm  here  tormentin*  you  by  teUin'  you  my  character. 
I've  been  to  the  work-house  twice, — I  have,  I  swan, — once 
for  gettin'  drunk,  and  once  for  somethin'  else  a  good  deal 
wus.  How  do  you  feel  now  ?"  and  Bill  leered  wickedly 
at  the  young  man,  who  seemed  bent  on  keeping  silence. 

Only  the  expression  of  his  face  told  the  extreme  con- 
tempt he  felt  for  his  companion,  and  how  it  did  wound 
to  the  quick  one  of  his  nature  to  be  held  a  prisoner  by 
such  as  WiUiam  Baker.  But  there  was  no  help  for  it  ; 
he  must  submit  to  be  taken  to  Washington  by  the 
despised  Bill,  and  then, — oh,  how  his  heart  sank  within 
him  as  he  thought,  what  then  ?  Was  there  no  method 
of  escape  ?  Couldn't  he  get  away,  or  better  yet,  couldn't 
he  hire  Bill  to  let  him  go  ?  Strange  he  had  not  thought 
of  this  before.  Yankees  were  proverbially  avaricious, 
and  almost  every  man  had  his  price.  He  could  try,  at 
all  events,  and  unbending  his  dignity,  he  inquired  what 
Bill  would  ask  to  let  him  go  ? 

"What'll  I  ask?"  repeated  Bill,  placing  both  feet 
instead  of  one  upon  his  prisoner.  "  I  dun  know.  Le'ss 
dicker  a  spell  and  see.  What'll  you  give,  and  where 
do  you  keep  your  traps?" 

"In  my  pockefcs,"  the  unsuspecting  soldier  answered  ; 
"  there's  my  watch  and  chain,  worth  over  three  hundred 
doUars." 

"  Whew-ew !"  whistled  Bill,  his  face  lighting  up  in- 
stantly, while  hope  crept  into  the  stranger's  heart.  "  A 
gold  watch  worth  over  three  hundred!  Let's  see  the 
critter." 

"You  forget  that  my  hands  are  tied,"  the  stranger 
suggested. 

"  So  they  be,  but  mine  ain't,"  and  the  next  moment 
Bill  was  holding  to  his  ear  an  elegant  Parisian  watch, 
and  asking  if  the  stranger  were  positive  sure  it  cost 
more'n  three  hundred  dollars.     "I  had  an  old  pewter 


116  ROSE  MATHER. 

thing  that  I  gin  to  mother,"  he  said,  "and  this  concern  jest 
comes  in  play.  It's  mine,  you  say,  if  I'll  let  you  cut 
stick  and  run  ?'* 

*'  Yes,  sir;  I  give  you  that  in  exchange  for  my  liberty." 

"  Wall,  now,  kind  a  generous,  ain't  you  ?  But  I  want 
you  should  fling  in  something  to  clinch  the  bargain.  A 
chap  of  your  cloth  is  of  more  valley  than  three  hundred. 
"What  else  have  you  got,  corporal  ?"  and  laying  the  watch 
carefully  upon  the  grass,  Bill's  hand  a  second  time  sought 
the  stranger's  pocket,  bringing  out  an  expensive  and 
exquisitely  wrought  quizzing-glass. 

"Wall,  now,  if  these  ain't  the  curisest  spetacles!"  he 
exclaimed.  "  I'll  jest  see  how  a  Reb  looks  through  'em," 
and  adjusting  them  to  his  eyes,  Bill  walked  demurely 
around  his  prisoner,  and  then  standing  at  a  little  dis- 
tance inspected  him  minutely,  as  if  he  had  been  some 
curious  monster.  "  Hanged  if  I  can  see  in  *em,  but 
mabby  they'll  suit  the  old  woman  to  hum,"  he  said, 
placing  the  glass  beside  the  watch,  and  adding:  "  Watch 
and  spetacles  ain't  enough,  Corporal.  What  more  have 
you  got?     Ain't  there  a  ring  on  one  of  your  hands  ?'* 

"  Yes,  a  costly  diamond,"  was  the  faint  response,  and 
Bill  ere  long  was  trying  in  vain  to  push  it  over  his 
large  joints. 

"  It  don't  fit  me,  but  I  guess  'twill  my  gal,  when  I  git 
one,"  he  said,  laying  that,  too,  with  the  watch  and  eye- 
glass. 

A  silver  tobacco-box  and  handsome  cigar-case  followed 
next,  the  stranger  groaning  mentally,  as  a  faint  suspicion 
of  Bill's  real  intentions  crossed  his  mind.  There  re- 
mained now  but  one  more  article,  the  dearest  of  all  the 
young  Bebel  possessed,  and  the  perspiration  started  from 
every  pore  as  he  felt  the  rough  hand  again  within  hus 
pockets,  and  knew  he  could  not  prevent  it. 


THE   EEBEL  AND   THE  TAKKEE.  117 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no,  not  that !  Spare  me  that.  Do  not 
open  it,  please!"  and  the  haughty  tone  was  changed  tc 
one  of  earnest  supphcation,  as  Bill  di-ew  forth  a  small 
daguerrean  case,  and  placed  his  dirty  thumb  upon  the 
spring. 

Something  in  the  stranger's  Toice  made  him  pause  a 
moment,  but  anything  like  delicacy  of  feeling  was  un- 
known to  the  rough  Bill,  and  the  next  instant  he  was 
feasting  his  rude  gaze  upon  the  features  which  the  Rebel 
youth  had  guarded  almost  rehgiously,  even  from  his 
equals  in  camp.  How  beautiful  that  gii'Hsh  face  was, 
with  its  bright  laughtog  eyes,  and  soft  chestnut  curls 
falling  in  such  profusion  around  the  childish  brow,  and 
upon  the  smooth,  white  neck.  Even  Bill  was  awed  into 
silence,  while  a  feeling  of  bewilderment  crept  over  him 
as  if  he  had  seen  that  face  before,  and  mingled  with  this 
feeling  came  remembrances  of  that  last  day  at  home, 
when  fair  hands,  which,  ere  he  was  a  soldier,  would  have 
scorned  to  touch  such  as  he,  had  waved  him  an  adieu. 

"WTiew-ew!"  he  whistled,  at  last.  "Ain't  she  pretty, 
though  ?  Your  sweet-heart,  I  guess,"  and  he  leered  at 
the  stranger,  who  made  him  no  reply;  only  the  hps 
quivered,  and  in  the  dark  eyes  there  was  a  gathering 
moisture;  but  when  Bill  asked,  "May  I  have  this,  too,  if 
I'll  let  you  go?"  the  stranger  answered,  promptly: 

"Never!  I'll  die  a  thousand  deaths  before  I'll  pai*t 
with  that!  Liberty  is  not  worth  that  price.  Give  me 
back  the  picture,  and  I'll  go  with  you  willingly  where- 
ever  you  please.  Do  give  it  back,"  he  added,  in  an 
agony  of  fear,  as  Bill  continued  gazing  at  it,  and  making 
his  remarks. 

"  Can't  a  feUer  look  at  a  gal  on  glass  if  he  wajits  to  ?  I 
wouldn't  hurt  the  httle  critter  if  I  could  as  well  as  not. 


118  EOSE  MATHER. 

So  you  "won't  give  lier  to  me,  nor  tell  me  who  'tis, 
neither  ?" 

"  Stranger,"  said  the  Rebel,  "  have  you  any  feelings  of 
refinement  ?" 

"  Nary  feelin',''  and  Bill  shook  his  head,  but  did  not 
withdraw  his  eyes  from  the  picture. 

"  Well,  then,  have  you  a  wife  ?" 

"  Nary  wife.     Nobody  would  have  Bill  Baker." 

"Nor  sister?" 

"  Nary  sister  but  a  dead  one  that  I  never  seen." 

"Nor  mother?  You  surely  have  a  mother,"  and  the 
soldier's  voice  shook  with  strong  emotion. 

"  You've  got  me  there,"  and  Bill's  eyes  turned  upon 
his  prisoner.  "  I  have  a  mother,  and  you  ought  to  hear 
the  old  gal  take  on  when  she  comes  home  from  washin' 
from  Miss  Martherses  or  some  of  the  big  bugs  and  finds 
Hal  dead  drunk  on  the  trundle-bed,  and  me  not  a  great 
sight  better.  Handsome  old  gal, — one  of  the  kind  that 
don't  wear  hoops,  but  every  time  she  steps  takes  her 
gownd  up  on  her  heels,  you  know." 

The  Rebel  groaned  aloud.  There  was  no  tender  point 
upon  which  his  captor  could  be  touched,  and  the  tears 
rained  over  his  handsome  face  as  he  begged  of  Bill  to 
give  him  at  least  the  ambrotype. 

"  It's  the  only  thing  which  has  prevented  me  from  be- 
ing a  perfect  villain,"  he  said.  "  It  has  kept  me  from 
the  wine  cup,  and  from  the  gambler's  den." 

"  Pity  it  hadn't  kept  you  out  of  the  Southern  army," 
was  Bill's  dry  response,  and  the  stranger  answered, 
eagerly: 

"I  wish  it  had,  I  wish  it  had!  Please  give  it  back, 
and  111  swear  allegiance  to  the  veriest  minion  in  Lin- 
coln's train." 

"  I  never  thought  no  great  of  a  turncoat,"  Bill  repHed, 


THE  EEBEL  A!<ID  THE  YA]!^EE.  119 

closing  the  case,  and  still  holding  it  in  his  hand.  "If 
you're  a  Southern  dog,  stay  so,  not  go  to  barkin'  on  both 
sides.  We  don't  want  no  traitors.  Honest,  though, 
corporal,  where  ivas  you  born  ?  There's  a  kind  of  nate- 
ral  look  in  your  face,  as  if  I'd  seen  it  afore,"  and  BiU  laid 
the  ambrotype  upon  the  grass. 

But  with  regard  to  his  birth-place,  the  stranger  was 
non-committal;  and  Bill  continued  : 

"If  I  Jet  you  go,  you'll  give  me  the  watch?'* 

"  WilHngly,  wilhngly." 

"And  the  spetacles  ?" 

"Yes,  oh  yes." 

"  And  the  glass  bead  ring  ?" 

"  Yes,  everything  but  the  picture." 

"  Don't  be  so  fast,"  BiU  rejoined.  "  I'U  get  to  that 
bimeby.  Watch,  spetacles,  glass  bead  ring,  tobarker- 
box,  and  this  other  thingumbob,  but  not  the  picter,  if  I']l 
let  you  go  ?  And  you'll  go  with  me  to  Washington,  and 
be  showed  up  hke  a  caravan  if  I'U  give  up  the  picter  ? 
Them's  the  terms  as  I  understand." 

"  Yes,"  the  stranger  gasped,  a  shadow  of  hope  stealing 
into  his  heart. 

Alasj  how  soon  it  was  erased  by  BiU's  continuing : 

"  Yankees  ain't  genersdly  very  green.  We  can  make 
you  Southern  bloods  buy  wooden  cowcumber-seeds  any 
time  of  day,  and  do  you  s'pose  I'm  goin'  to  let  you  off 
at  any  price ?  No  sir!  If  you  go  to  war,  you  must  take 
the  chances  of  war.  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  hurt  you,  and 
I'U  ease  up  them  strings  if  you  say  so,  but,  corporal, 
you're  my  prisoner;  and  these  traps,"  laying  his  hand 
upon  the  various  articles  upon  the  grass,  "  these  traps, 
picter  and  aU,  I  con-fis-cate  as  con-tra-band  /  How  do 
you  feel  now  ?"  and  BiU  cooUy  pocketed  his  contrabands, 
all  save  the  watch,  which  he  adjusted  about  his  neck. 


120 


ROSE   MATHER. 


There  was  a  fierce  storm  of  tears,  and  sobs,  and  wild 
entreaties,  and  then  the  poor  discouraged  soldier  was 
still,  his  white  face  wearing  again  its  look  of  cold, 
haughty  reserve,  and  his  whole  manner  indicative  of  the 
aversion  he  felt  for  the  vulgar  Bill,  upon  whom  the  feel- 
ing was  entirely  lost,  for  though  Bill  knew  the  proud 
Southerner  felt  above  him,  he  could  not  appreciate  the 
feelings  which  made  the  young  man  shrink  from  him  as 
from  a  loathsome  reptile.  Bill  had  no  intention  of  treat- 
ing him  cruelly,  and  as  by  this  time  the  night  shadows 
were  creeping  into  the  woods,  he  sought  out  a  dryer  and 
more  sheltered  si^ot,  and  bade  his  prisoner  sleep  while 
he  sat  by  and  watched.  It  seemed  j^reposterous  that 
the  stranger  should  sleep  under  so  great  excitement,  but 
human  natui'e  could  endure  no  longer  without  rest,  and 
when  at  last  the  stars  came  out,  they  shone  do^vn  upon 
that  tired  soldier,  sleeping  upon  the  grass,  with  Bill  sit- 
ting near,  and  watching  as  he  slept.  There  were  visions 
of  home,  and  of  the  battle,  too,  it  would  seem,  mingled 
in  the  young  man's  dreams,  for  he  talked  sometimes 
with  his  mother,  asking  her  to  forgive  her  boy,  and  take 
him  back  again  to  her  love  ;  then  he  was  pleading  for 
another,  a  captive  it  would  seem,  asking  that  nought 
but  the  best  of  care  should  come  to  the  wounded  officer; 
and  then  the  picture  flitted  across  his  mind,  for  he  held 
converse  with  the  original,  and  Bill,  listening  io  him, 
muttered  : 

"'Twas  his  gal,  or  sister,  sure;  I'm  sorry  for  him,  I 
vum,  but  hanged  if  I'll  give  it  up.  It's  contraband  accor- 
ding to  war.     He  needn't  of  jined  the  army." 

And  so  the  weary  night  wore  on,  the  deep  stillness  of 
the  Vii'ginia  woods  broken  occasionally  by  the  shouts  of 
riders  as  they  passed  by,  in  search  of  \\'hatever  there 
was  to  find.     Once,  as  the  shouts  came  near,  the  soldier 


NEWS  OF  THE  BATTlE.  121 

etarted  up,  but  ere  the  scream  for  help  had  passed  his 
lips,  Bill's  hand  was  laid  firmly  upon  them,  and  Bill  him- 
self whispered  fiercely. 

"  One  yelp,  and  I  gag  you  with  the  handkerchief  the 
old  woman  took  from  her  pocket  and  gin  me  the  momin* 
I  come  from  home.  She  takes  snuff,  too,  the  old  woman 
does!" 

There  was  a  gesture  of  disgust,  and  then  the  stranger 
became  quiet  again,  while  the  shouts  died  away  in  the 
distance  and  were  not  heard  again  that  night.  The 
morning  broke  at  last,  and  just  as  it  was  growing  hght, 
Bill,  aroused  by  the  falling  rain  from  the  slumber  into 
which  he  had  inadvertently  fallen,  awoke  his  prisoner, 
and  led  him  safely  through  the  pickets  of  the  enemy 
without  encountering  a  human  being.  They  were  a 
strange  looking  couple,  and  when,  on  the  following  day, 
they  reached  Washington,  they  attracted  far  more  atten- 
tion than  the  prisoner  desired,  for  he  shrunk  nervously 
from  the  curious  gaze  fixed  upon  him,  refusing  to  answer 
all  questions  as  to  his  name  or  birthplace,  and  appear- 
ing glad  when  at  last  he  was  reUeved  from  Bill's  surveil- 
lance and  led  to  his  prison  home. 


CHAPTER  X 

NEWS  OF  THE  BATTLE  AT  ROCKLAND. 


REAT  Battle  at  Manassas! 

Total  Rout  of  the  Federal  Army ! 
3,000  killed  and  as  many  more  taken  prisoners  I 
Fire  Zouaves  all  cut  to  pieces ! 
6 


122  ROSE  MATHER. 

Only  three  or  four  escape  alive  ! 

N.  Y.  13th  completely  riddled! !! 

Sherman's  Battery,  and  hosts  of  guns  in  the  hands  of 
the  Rebels ! 

Frightful  Panic  at  Washington ! 

The  Capitol  in  imminent  danger ! 

Gen.  Scott  in  convulsions,  the  President  crazy,  and 
Seward  threatened  with  softening  of  the  brain  ! 

"Women  and  children  fleeing  for  their  lives ! 

Beauregard  marching  on  with  500,000  men ! 

The  Baltimoreans  in  ecstasies,  and  the  Philadelphians 
in  despair ! 

Such  were  some  of  the  exaggerated  reports  which  ran 
like  lightning  through  the  streets  of  Rockland  on  the 
first  aiTival  of  the  news,  throwing  the  people  into  a 
greater  panic  than  was  said  to  exist  in  Washington. 
Hints  of  some  terrible  disaster,  the  exact  nature  of  which 
could  not  be  known  until  the  arrival  of  the  eveniug  pa- 
pers, had  early  in  the  afternoon  found  their  way  from 
the  telegraphic  station  into  the  village,  creating  the  most 
intense  excitement.  Men  left  their  places  of  business  to 
talk  the  matter  over,  while  groups  of  women  assembled 
at  the  street  corners,  discussing  the  probabilities  of  the 
case,  and  each  hoping  that  her  child,  her  husband,  her 
brother  had  been  spared. 

Prominent  among  these  was  Widow  Simms,  holding 
fast  to  Susan's  hand,  and  occasionally  whispering  a  word 
of  comfort  to  the  poor  child,  whose  eyes  were  red  with 
weeping  over  the  possible  fate  of  John.  Rose  Mather's 
carriage  drove  up  and  down,  and  from  its  window  Rose 
herself  looked  anxiously  out,  her  face  indicative  of  the 
anxiety  she  felt  to  hear  the  worst,  if  worst  there  were. 
She  knew  her  husband  could  not  have  been  in  battle,  for 
he  was  still  in  Washington,  but  she  was  conscious  of  a  feel- 


NEWS   OF  THE  BATTLE.  123 

ing  as  if  some  dire  calamity  were  impending  over  lier, 
and  among  tlie  crowd  collected  in  the  street  there  was 
none  who  waited  more  impatiently  for  the  coming  of  the 
evening  train  than  she.  She  had  taken  Annie  Graham 
to  ride  with  her,  and  the  two  presented  a  most  striking 
contrast,  for  where  Rose  was  nervous,  impatient  and  ex- 
cited, Annie,  though  feehng  none  the  less  concerned,  was 
quiet,  submissive  and  resigned,  exhibiting  no  outward 
emotion  until  the  shrill  whistle  was  heard  across  the 
plain,  when  a  crimson  flush  stole  into  her  cheek,  deepen- 
ing into  a  purple  as  the  carriage  drew  up  in  front  of  the 
office,  where  the  throng  was  growing  denser, — men  push- 
ing past  each  other,  and  elbowing  their  way  to  a  stand- 
point near  the  door,  where  they  could  catch  the  first  item 
of  news,  and  scatter  it  among  the  eager  crowd.  The 
papei-s  came  at  last,  and  the  damp  sheets  were  almost 
torn  asunder  by  the  excited  multitude. 

"  Me  one, — me,  please,"  and  Eose  Mather's  hand  was 
thrust  from  the  window  in  time  to  catch  a  paper  destined 
for  some  one  farther  in  the  rear,  but  ere  she  had  found 
the  column  sought,  she  heard  from  those  around  her 
that  the  worst  was  reahzed. 

There  had  been  a  battle.  Our  troops  were  utterly  de- 
feated, and  worse  than  all,  disgraced. 

"  But  the  13th  V  Annie  whispered  faintly.  "  Does  it 
speak  of  the  13th?''' 

Rose  did  not  know.  Her  interest  just  then  was  cen- 
tered in  the  "  Massachusetts ,"  and  in  her  eagerness  to 

hear  from  Tom,  she  forgot  for  a  moment  that  such  a 
regiment  as  the  N.  Y.  13th  existed.  But  there  were 
others  who  did  not  forget,  and  just  as  the  question  left 
Annie's  lips,  the  answer  came  in  the  despairing  cry  which 
rent  the  air  as  some  reckless  person  shouted  aloud. 


124  ROSE  MATHER. 

"  The  lath  a  total  wreck !  Not  a  man  left  of  Company 
R." 

"  Oh,  George,"  poor  Annie  cried,  and  the  next  moment 
Rose  held  the  fainting  form  upon  her  lap. 

"  Drive  home, — to  Ivlrs.  Graham's  I  mean,"  she  said  to 
Jake,  who  with  some  difficulty  made  his  way  through 
the  crowd,  but  not  until  the  stoiy  so  cruelly  set  afloat 
was  contradicted  by  those  who  had  more  coolly  read  the 
sad  inteUigence. 

The  news  was  bad  enough,  but  the  Rockland  com- 
pany was  not  mentioned,  and  its  friends  had  no  alterna- 
tive but  to  wait  until  the  telegraph  wires  should  bring 
some  tidings  of  the  saved.  Rose  was  the  first  to  be  re- 
membered.    Will  did  his  duty  faithfully. 

"  A  teriible  battle,"  his  message  ran.  "  Soldiers  are 
arriving  every  hour,  but  Tom  has  not  come  yet." 

A  telegram  for  the  Widow  Simms  came  next,  the 
mother's  quick  eye  taking  in  at  a  glance  that  only  Eli's 
name  and  John's  were  appended  to  it.  Isaac's  was  not 
there.  A\Tiere  was  he  then,  oh  where  ?  She  asked  this 
question  frantically,  refusing  to  read  the  note  lest  it 
should  confirm  her  fears. 

"  I'll  read  it,  mother.  Let  me  see,"  Susan  said,  wrest- 
ing the  paper  from  her  hands,  and  reading  with  trem- 
bling tones, 

"Eli  and  I  are  eb^Q.  Isaac  was  last  seen  leading  Lient.  Graham 
from  the  field." 

Oh  what  a  piteous  wail  went  up  to  Heaven  then,  for 
Widow  Simms,  when  she  received  the  news,  was  sitting 
in  Annie's  door,  and  Annie  was  kneeling  at  her  side. 
George  was  wounded,  of  course,  and  if  wounded,  dead, 
else  why  had  he  not  thought  of  her  ere  this  ?    Locked 


NEWS  OF  THE  BATTLE.  125 

in  each  other's  arms  the  two  stricken  women  wept  bit- 
terly, the  mother  sobbing  amid  her  tears,  "  Mj  boy,  my 
boy,"  while  Annie  moaned  sadly,  "  My  George,  my  hus- 
band." 

"Well  was  it  for  both  that  ere  that  dark  hour  came  they 
had  learned  to  follow  on,  even  when  their  Father's  foot- 
steps were  in  the  sea,  knowing  the  hand  which  guided 
would  never'  lead  them  wrong.  Annie  was  the  first  to 
rally. 

"  It  might  not  after  all  be  so  bad,"  she  said.  "  George 
and  Isaac  were  prisoners,  perhaps,  but  even  that  was 
preferable  to  death.  It  would  surely  save  them  from 
danger  in  future  battles.  The  Southerners  would  not 
maltreat  helpless  captives.  There  were  kind  people 
South  as  well  as  North." 

Thus  Annie  reasoned,  and  the  widow  felt  herself  grow 
stronger  as  hoj)e  whispered  of  a  brighter  day  to-mor- 
row. 

To  Annie  it  was  brighter,  for  it  brought  her  news  of 
George,  wounded  in  his  right  arm,  an  inmate  of  the  hos- 
pital, and  at  present  too  weak  to  write.  This  was  all, 
but  it  comforted  the  young  wife.  He  was  not  dead.  He 
might  come  home  again,  and  Annie's  heart  overflowed 
with  grateful  thanksgiving  that  while  so  many  were  be- 
reaved of  their  loved  ones  she  had  been  mercifully  spared. 
The  next  mail  brought  her  a  second  letter  from  Mr.  Ma- 
ther, more  minute  in  its  particulars  than  any  which  had 
preceded  it.  He  had  obtained  pei-mission  to  stay  with 
George,  had  removed  him  to  a  private  boarding-house, 
far  more  comfortable  than  the  crowded  hospital;  and,  at 
his  request  he  wrote  to  Annie  that  her  husband,  though 
badly  wounded  and  suffering  much  fi'om  the  terrible  ex- 
citement of  the  battle,  was  not  thought  dangerous,  and 
had  strong  hopes  of  ere  long  receiving  his   discharge, 


126  BOSE  MATHER 

and  retuming  home  •where  she  could  nurse  him  back  to 
life. 

This  was  Annie's  message,  read  b}-  her  eagerly,  while 
the  Widow  Simms,  forgetting  all  formality  in  her  anxiety 
to  hear  if  there  was  aught  concerning  her  boy,  looked 
over  her  shoulder,  her  eye  darting  from  line  to  line  until 
she  caught  his  name.  There  was  something  of  him,  and 
gi-asping  Annie's  arm,  she  whispered, 

"  Kead  what  it  says  of  Isaac." 

And  Annie  read  how  brave  Tom  Carleton  had  gener- 
ously given  place  to  the  poor  wounded  George,  and  staid 
behind  him  with  Isaac,  hoping  to  make  his  way  to  Wash- 
ington in  safety.  They  had  not  been  heard  from  since, 
and  the  widow's  heart  was  sick  as  heart  could  be  with  the 
dread  uncertainty.  Anji:hing  was  preferable  to  this  sus- 
pense, and  in  a  state  of  mind  bordering  upon  distraction 
she  walked  the  floor,  now  wringing  her  hands  and  again 
declaring  her  intention  to  start  at  once  for  somewhere, 
she  knew  not  whither,  or  cared,  provided  she  foimd  her 
child. 

In  the  midst  of  her  excitement  the  gate  swung  open, 
and  !Mrs.  Baker  rushed  up  the  vralk,  her  sleeves  above 
her  elbows,  and  her  hair  pushed  back  from  her  bonnet- 
less  head,  just  as  she  had  left  her  washing  at  a  neighbor's 
when  she  received  ^i^'s  letter, -which,  told  of  Hal's  sad 
fate,  and  unravelled  the  mystery  of  Tom  Carleton's 
silence. 

"He's  took!  The  Rebels  have  got  your  Ike!"  she 
shrieked,  brandishing  aloft  the  soiled  missive,  and  howl- 
ing dismally.  Then,  putting  her  hand  into  her  bosom, 
she  drew  forth  the  lock  of  hair,  and  thrusting  it  almost  in- 
to the  widow's  face,  cried  out,  "  Look,  'tis  Harry's  hair, 
all  there  is  left  of  Harry.  That's  what  I  git  for  havin'  a 
boy  two  inches  taller  than  Ike,  who  stood  in  front,  and 


NEWS  OF  THE  BATTLE.  127 

would  of  been  sliot  instead  of  Harry,  only  lie  was  shorter. 
Eead  it,  Miss  Graham,"  and  tossing  the  letter  into  An- 
nie's lap,  the  wretched  woman  sank  upon  the  door-step, 
and  covering  her  face  with  her  wet  apron,  rocked  back 
and  forth,  while  Annie  read  aloud  as  follows: 

"  Washington,  July  2Uh,  1861. 

"Deab  Mothee:  We've  met  the  rascals,  and  been  as  genteelly 
licked  as  ever  a  pack  of  fools  could  ask  to  be.  How  it  happened  no- 
body knows.  I  was  fitin'  like  a  tiger,  when  all  on  a  sndden  I  found 
us  a-runnin'  like  a  flock  of  sheep ;  and  what  is  the  queerest  of  all,  is 
that  while  we  were  takin'  to  our  heels  one  way  the  Rebels  were  go- 
in'  it  t'other,  and  for  what  I  know,  we  should  of  been  runnin'  from 
each  other  till  now  if  they  hadn't  found  out  the  game,  and  so  turned 
upon  us. 

"Butwustof  all  is  to  come.  JSalia  dead, — shot  right  through 
the  forehead ,  and  the  ball  that  struck  him  down  took  off  Ike  Simmses 
cap,  so  if  Ike  had  been  only  a  little  taUer,  Hal  would  of  hved  to  been 
hung  most  likely." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  he  had,  I  wish  he  had !"  poor  Mrs. 
Baker  moaned,  still  waving  back  and  forth  and  kissing 
the  lock  of  hair,  while  the  widow  involuntarily  thanked 
her  Heavenly  Father  that  the  two  inches  she  once  so 
earnestly  coveted  for  her  boy  had  wisely  been  with- 
held. 

Then  followed  Bill's  account  of  cutting  away  the  hair 
he  inclosed,  of  his  flight  into  the  woods,  his  sleep  by  the 
brook,  and  his  waking  just  in  time  to  see  Capt.  Carleton 
and  Isaac  Simms  disappear  beneath  the  trees,  in  charge 
of  rebel  soldiers. 

Now  that  fihe  knew  the  worst  the  widow  sat  like  one 
stunned  by  a  heavy  blow,  uttering  no  sound,  as  Annie 
read  Bill's  account  of  capturing  his  prisoner.  Ere  she 
reached  this  point,  however,  she  had  another  auditor, 
Rose  Mather,  who  had  come  with  a  second  letter  from 
her  husband,  and  who,  passing  the  weeping  woman  in  the 


128  EOSE  MATHER. 

door,  came  and  stood  by  Annie,  and  listened  with  strange 
interest  to  the  story  of  that  captive  parting  so  willingly 
with  everjihing  save  the  pictui*e. 

"  Poor  yoimg  man  !"  she  sighed,  when  Annie  finished 
reading.  "  I  don't  suppose  it's  right,  but  I  do  feel  sorry 
for  him.  "W'hat  if  it  had  been  Jimmie  ?  Perhaps  he  has 
a  sister  somewhere  weeping  for  him  just  as  I  cried  for 
Tom.  Dear  Tom,  Will  writes  he  is  a  prisoner  with  Isaac 
Simms.  I'm  glad  they  are  together.  Tom  will  take  care 
of  Isaac.  He  had  a  quantity  of  gold  tied  around  his 
waist,"  and  Rose's  soft  hand  smoothed  caressingly  the 
widow's  thin,  light  hair. 

The  widow  had  not  wept  before,  but  at  the  touch  of 
those  httle  fingers  the  flood  gates  opened  wide,  and  her 
tears  fell  in  torrents.  They  were  boimd  together  now  by 
a  common  bond  of  sympathy,  those  four  women,  each  so 
unlike  to  the  other,  and  for  a  time  they  wept  in  silence, 
one  for  her  wounded  husband,  one  for  a  child  deceased, 
one  for  a  captured  brother,  the  other  for  a  son. 

Now,  as  ever,  Annie  was  the  first  to  speak  of  hope,  and 
her  words  were  fraught  with  comfort  to  all  save  Harry's 
mother.  She  could  not  comfort  her,  for  fi'om  reckless, 
misgTiided  Harry's  grave,  there  came  no  ray  of  consola- 
tion, but  to  the  others  she  spoke  of  One  who  would  not 
desert  the  weary  captives.  Neither  bolt  nor  bar  could 
shut  Him  out.  God  was  in  Richmond  as  well  as  there  at 
^ome,  and  none  could  tell  what  good  might  spring  from 
this  seeming  great  evil.  For  a  long  time  they  talked  to- 
gether, and  the  afternoon  was  half  spent  when  at  last  they 
separated,  Eose  going  back  to  her  luxurious  home  where 
she  wrote  to  her  mother  the  sad  news  concerning  Tom, 
blurring  with  great  tears  the  line  in  which  she  spoke  of 
Jimmie,  wondering  what  his  fate  had  been. 
•     Slowly,  disconsolately  poor  Mrs.  Baker  returned  to  her 


NEWS   OF  THE   BATTLE.  129 

day's  work  so  long  neglected,  but  the  suds  she  left  so  hot 
two  hours  before  had  grown  cold,  the  fire  burned  out, 
and  with  that  weary,  discouraged  feeling  which  poverty 
alone  can  prompt,  she  was  setting  herself  to  the  task  of 
bringing  matters  up  again,  when  her  employer,  touched 
with  the  sight  of  the  white,  anguished  face,  kindly  bade 
her  leave  the  work  until  another  day,  and  seek  the  quiet 
she  so  much  needed.  Poor  old  woman !  How  desolate 
it  was  going  back  to  the  squalid  house  where  everything, 
even  to  the  bootjack  he  had  once  hurled  at  her  head,  re- 
minded her  of  the  Harry  who  would  come  back  no  more ! 
She  did  not  think  of  his  unkindness  now.  That  was  all 
forgotten,  and  motherlike,  she  remembered  only  the  times 
when  he  was  good  and  treated  her  hke  something  half 
way  human.  He  was  her  boy,— her  first  born,  and  as  she 
lay  with  her  tear-stained  face  buried  in  the  scanty  pil- 
lows of  her  humble  bed,  she  recalled  to  mind  the  time 
when  first  he  Hsped  the  sweet  word  mother,  and  twined 
his  baby  arms  about  her  neck. 

He  was  a  bright,  pretty  child,  easily  influenced  for  good 
or  evil,  and  the  rude  mother  shuddered  as  she  felt  creeping 
over  her  the  conviction  that  she  had  helped  to  make  him 
what  he  grew  to  be,  laughing  at  his  fierce  temper  and  at 
times  provoking  him  on  purpose,  just  to  see  him  bump 
his  Httle  round,  hard  head  against  the  oaken  floor. 
Then,  as  he  grew  older,  it  was  fun  to  hear  him  imitate  the 
oaths  his  father  used,  and  she  had  laughed  at  that  until 
the  habit  became  so  firmly  fixed  that  neither  threats  nor 
punishment  could  break  it.  And  when  the  Sabbath  bells 
were  pealing  forth  their  summons  to  the  house  of  prayer, 
she  had  suffered  him  to  stay  away,  offering  but  slight  re- 
monstrance when  the  robin's  nest  just  without  the  door 
was  pilfered  of  its  unfledged  occupants,  the  mother -bird 
moaning  c  vrer  its  murdered  young,  just  as  she  was  moan- 
6* 


130  ROSE  MATHER. 

ing  now  over  her  ruined  boy.  Poor  Harry !  There  was 
some  excuse  for  him,  some  apologj'  found  in  the  nature 
of  his  early  training,  but  for  her  who  reared  him, — none. 
She  might  have  taught  him  better.  ,  She  might  have  sent 
him  to  the  Simday  school  across  the  way,  where  Sunday 
after  Sunday  she  had  heard  the  hymns  the  children  sang 
swelling  on  the  Sabbath  air,  Harry  sometimes  joining  in  as 
he  sat  in  the  cottage  door,  adjusting  the  bait  with  which  to 
tempt  the  unsuspecting  fish  placing  in  the  brook  nearby. 
A  mother's  fearful  responsibility  had  been  hers.  She  had 
not  fulfilled  it,  and  it  rolled  back  upon  her  now,  stinging 
as  only  remorse  can  sting,  and  making  her  wish  amid  her 
pain  that  the  boy,  once  so  earnestly  desired,  had  never 
been  given  her,  or  else  had  died  in  its  cradle  bed,  and  so 
gone  where  she  knew  the  hardened  in  sin  never  could  find 
entrance. 

So  absorbed  was  she  in  her  grief  as  not  to  hear  the 
BOimd  of  wheels  stopping  near  her  gate,  nor  the  tripping 
footstep  upon  the  floor.  Bose  Mather,  restless  at  home 
and  wishing  for  something  to  do,  had  remembered  the 
miserable  woman,  and  knowing  how  desolate  her  com- 
fortless house  must  seem  that  summer  night,  she  had 
conquered  her  aversion  to  the  place  and  come  to  speak, 
if  possible,  a  word  of  cheer.  Mrs.  Baker's  howls  always 
had  the  effect  of  making  her  laugh,  they  seemed  so 
forced,  so  unnatural;  but  there  was  something  so  new,  so 
real  in  the  stillness  of  that  figure  crouching  upon  the  bed, 
that  Bose  for  a  moment  was  uncertain  how  to  act.  It 
was  no  feigned  sorrow  of  which  she  was  a  witness  now, 
and  advancing  at  last  towards  the  untidy  bed,  she  laid 
her  hand  upon  the  disordered,  uncombed  hair,  and  whis- 
pered soothingly,  "I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  Mrs.  Baker, 
and  I'll  do  all  I  can  to  help  you.  I'll  give  you  money  to 
make  your  cottage  pleasanter,  and  by  and  by  you  won't 
feel  so  badly,  maybe." 


NEWS   FROM   THE   WAK.  131 

This  was  Eose's  idea  of  comfort.  Money,  in  her  esti- 
mation, was  to  the  poor  a  panacea  for  nearly  every  evil, 
but  all  her  wealth  could  not  avail  to  quiet  the  feeHng  of 
remorse  from  which  Mrs.  Baker  was  suffering.  With  a  sob 
she  thanked  the  kind-hearted  Rose,  and  then  continued, 
"'Tain't  the  poverty  so  much,  nor  the  knowin'  that 
he's  dead,  though  that  is  bad  enough.  It's  the  something 
that  tells  me  I  or'to  have  brimg  him  up  better.  I  never 
sent  him  to  meetin',  never  went  myseK,  never  had  him 
baptized,  though  I  did  try  once  to  learn  him  '  Now  I  lay 
me — '  but  he,  that's  my  man,  laughed  me  out  of  it.  He 
said  there  wasn't  any  God,  that  we  all  come  by  chance, 
but  I  knew  better,  /had  a  prayin'  mother,  and  though 
I  forgot  what  she  learnt  me,  it  'pears  to  come  back  to  me 
now.  Oh,  Harry,  I  wish  I'd  done  different,  I  do,  I  do," 
and  the  repentant  woman  buried  her  face  again  in  the 
scanty  pillows,  while  Rose  looked  pityingly  on. 

Here  was  a  case  she  coul(f  not  reach.  Money  would 
not  cure  that  aching  heart,  or  quiet  that  guilty  con- 
science. "Mrs.  Graham  would  know  exactly  what  to 
say,"  Rose  thought,  wishing  more  and  more  that  she,  too, 
possessed  the  wisdom  which  would  have  told  her  what  it 
was  poor  Mrs.  Baker  needed.  Sitting  down  beside  her, 
Rose  talked  to  her  of  Bill,  who,  her  husband  said,  was 
highly  complimented  for  having  captured  a  rebel.  Will 
had  not  seen  the  prisoner,  she  said,  or  heard  his  name  ;  ho 
only  knew  the  fact,  and  that  Bill  was  greatly  praised.  This 
was  some  consolation  to  IVIrs.  Baker,  but  it  did  not  take 
the  pain  away,  and  as  she  was  not  iuclined  to  converse, 
Rose  soon  bade  her  good  bye  and  left  her  there  alone  in 
her  deep  sorrow. 

The  following  Sunday,  just  as  the  notes  of  the  organ 
were  djdng  away  in  the  opening  service,  a  bent,  shiink- 
ing  figure  stole  noiselessly  in  at  the  open  door,  and  Rose 


132  BOSE   MATHER. 

Mather  recognized  beneath  the  thin  black  veil,  the  hag- 
gard face  of  Widow  Baker,  who,  except  on  funeral  occa- 
sions, had  never  before  been  seen  wdthin  the  walls  of  the 
church.  Annie  saw  her,  too,  and  while  Eose,  touched 
with  the  humble  attempt  she  had  made  to  put  on  some- 
thing like  Diourning  for  her  child,  thought  how  she 
would  give  her  an  entire  new  suit  of  black,  Annie  thought 
how  she  would  daily  pray  that  the  blow  which  had  fallen 
so  crushingly  might  result  in  everlasting  good  to  the  now 
stricken  mother. 

Scarcely  less  keen,  but  of  a  far  different  natui-e,  was  the 
grief  of  Widow  Simms.  There  was  no  black  upon  her 
leghorn  bonnet.  She  would  not  have  worn  it  if  Isaac  had 
been  dead,  but  every  expression  of  her  stern  face  told 
how  constantly  her  heart  was  going  out  after  her  dar- 
ling boy,  her  captured  Isaac  languishing  in  his  sultry 
prison,  sick  perhaps,  and  pining  for  his  mother.  How 
savage  she  felt  toward  Beauregard  and  all  his  clan,  re- 
solving at  times  to  start  herself  for  Richmond,  and  beard 
the  lion  in  his  den. 

"  She'd  tell  them  what  was  what,"  she  said.  "  She'd 
let  them  know  what  an  injured  mother  could  do.  She'd 
turn  a  second  Charlotte  Corduroy,  if  necessary,  and  free 
the  land  from  such  vile  monsters,*'  and  she  actually 
sharpened  up  her  shears  as  a  weapon  of  offence  in  case 
the  pilgrimage  were  made  ! 

This  was  the  Widow  Sirams  excited,  but  the  Widow 
Simms  when  calm  was  a  very  different  woman,  praying 
then  for  her  boy,  and  even  asking  forgiveness  for  the 
stirrers  up  of  the  rebellion.  At  Annie's  request  she  had 
at  last  come  to  hve  altogether  at  the  cottage  in  the  Hol- 
low, and  it  was  well  for  both  that  they  should  be  together, 
for  the  widow's  stronger  wiU  upheld  the  weaker  Annie, 


NEWS  OF  THE  BATTLE.  138 

who,  in  her  turn,  imparted  much  of  her  own  trusting, 
childish  faith  to  the  less  trusting  widow. 

Greatly  Annie  mourned  as  the  days  went  on,  because 
no  hne  came  to  her  from  George  himself,  nothing  in  his 
own  handwriting,  when  he  knew  how  she  desired  it,  if  it 
were  but  just  his  name.  T^'hat  made  him  always  depu- 
tize Iklr.  Mather  to  write  his  letters  for  him  ?  Annie  put 
this  question  once  to  Bose,  but  the  twilight  was  gathering 
over  them,  and  so  she  failed  to  see  the  heightened  color 
on  Eose's  cheek  and  the  moisture  in  her  eye.  Eose  did 
not  now,  as  formerly,  bring  her  William's  letters,  and 
read  to  her  every  word  he  said  of  George.  She  only 
told  her  how  cheerfully  George  bore  his  illness,  and  how 
WiU  read  to  him  every  day  from  Annie's  Bible,  choosing 
always  the  passages  she  had  marked,  but  the  rest  was  all 
withheld  and  Annie  never  dreamed  the  reason,  or  of  the 
effort  it  cost  £he  talkative  little  Eose  to  keep  back  what 
"William  said  she  must  until  the  worst  were  known. 

Thus  the  August  days  ghded  by,  one  by  o&e,  until  the 
summer  hght  faded  from  the  Eockland  hills,  and  Septem- 
ber threw  over  them  her  rich  autumnal  bloom,  and  then 
one  day  there  came  a  note  for  Annie,  wiitten  as  oi  old  by 
William  Mather,  but  signed  by  George  himself.  Poor  An- 
nie, how  she  cried  over  and  kissed  that  signature,  to  which 
George  had  added,  "  God  bless  you,  darling  Annie."  Every 
letter  was  unnaturally  distorted,  and  few  could  have  de- 
ciphered the  words;  but  to  the  eye  of  love  they  were  plain 
as  noonday,  and  Annie's  kisses  dropped  upon  them  until 
they  were  still  more  blurred  than  when  they  came  to 
her. 

It  was  very  hard  for  Eose  to  keep  from  telling  the 
dreadful  story  of  what  had  followed  the  penning  of  those 
brief  words,  "  God  bless  you,  darhng  Annie."  But  Will 
had  said  she  must  not,  so  she  made  no  sign,  only  her  arms 


134  EOSE  MATHER 

clung  closer  around  Annie's  neck,  and  her  lips  lingered 
longer  upon  the  snowy  forehead  as  she  said  good  night, 
and  went  away  with  the  secret  which  Annie  must  not 
know  then. 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE   WOUNDED    SOLDIER. 


OW  those  pohshed,  cruel-looking  instruments 
sparkled,  and  glittered,  and  flashed;  and  how 
^r^^^  the  sick  man  shuddered  as  he  glanced  toward 
the  table  where  they  lay,  asking,  with  quivering  hp,  if 
there  were  no  other  alternative  save  the  one  their  pres- 
ence suggested. 

"  None  but  speedy  death !"  was  the  response  of  the 
attending  surgeon,  who  was  too  much  accustomed  to 
just  such  scenes  as  this,  to  appreciate  the  feelings  of  that 
poor  soldier,  shrinking  so  painfully  fi'om  what  they  told 
him  must  be  if  he  would  hve. 

*'  None  but  speedy  death," — George  repeated  the  words 
slowly  to  himself,  dwelling  longest  upon  the  last,  as  if  to 
accustom  himself  to  thoughts  of  it. 

"  Wait  a  httle,  wait  till  I  think  the  matter  over,"  he 
said,  in  reply  to  the  question,  "are  you  ready?"  and 
turning  his  face  to  the  wall,  so  that  those  about  him 
should  not  see  the  fearful  conflict  going  on,  he  thought 
long  and  earnestly.  Wasn't  it  better  to  die  than  go 
back  to  Annie  maimed  and  disfigured  for  life  ?  Better 
die  than  lose  a  portion  of  the  manly  beauty  of  which  he 
had  been  so  proud.  Would  Annie  love  him  just  the 
same,  even  though  the  strong  right  arm,  which  had  toiled 


THE  WOUNDED  SOLDIEIl.  135 

for  her  so  cheerfully,  could  never  work  for  her  agair.; 
never  encircle  her  in  its  embrace  ?  Would  the  scarred 
stump  be  as  dear  to  her  as  the  well-moulded  limb  had 
been  ?  He  did  not  know,  and  the  tears,  which  all  through 
the  weary  days  of  his  sickness  had  been  kept  back,  now 
fell  like  rain  upon  the  pillow,  as  he  fancied  the  meeting 
between  his  sweet  young  wife,  and  her  poor,  crippled 
husband.  The  cottage  on  the  hill  so  earnestly  coveted, 
would  never  be  theirs  now.  He  could  not  earn  it.  He 
could  not  earn  much  any  way,  with  his  left  arm,  and  he 
groaned  aloud,  as  he  thought  of  the  poor  unfortunate 
seen  so  often  in  the  Rochester  depot,  peddling  daily 
papers.  Woiild  he  ever  come  to  that  ?  He,  who,  but  a 
few  months  ago  had  so  bright  hopes  for  the  future? 
Would  the  delicate  Annie  he  had  meant  to  shield  so 
carefully  from  every  ill  of  life,  yet  be  compelled  to  earn 
the  bread  she  ate  ?  It  was  a  sad,  sad  picture  the  excited 
soldier  drew  of  what  the  future  might  bring,  and  the 
fainting  spirit  had  almost  cried  out,  "I  would  rather 
die !"  when  there  came  stealing  across  his  mind  the 
memory  of  Annie's  parting  words, 

"If  the  body  you  bring  back  has  in  it  my  George's 
heart,  I  shall  love  you  aU  the  same." 

Yes,  she  would  love  him  just  the  same,  for,  as  it  was 
not  her  fair,  sweet  face  alone  which  made  her  so  dear  to 
him,  so  it  was  not  his  splendid  form  which  made  him 
dear  to  her.  Annie's  love  would  not  abate,  even  though 
he  went  back  to  her  the  veriest  cripple  that  ever  crawled 
the  earth.  But  how  different  his  going  home  would  be 
from  what  he  had  fondly  hoped.  No  papers  heralding 
his  anival ;  no  dense  crowd  out  to  meet  him;  no  fife 
trilling  a  jubilee;  no  drum  beating  a  welcome;  no  bell 
ringing  its  merry  peal;  no  carriage,  no  procession;  noth- 
ing but  the  curious  gaze  of  the  few  who  might  come  out 


136  ROSE   MATHER. 

to  see  how  George  Graham  looked  without  an  arm,  and 
whisper  softly  to  each  other,  "  Poor  fellow,  how  I  pity 
him !"  *  He  didn't  want  to  be  pitied  ;  he  would  almost 
rather  die;  and  he  did  not  want  to  die  either,  when  he 
thought  calmly  of  it.  He  was  not  prepared;  and  forcing 
back  the  bitter  tears,  he  turned  his  white,  worn  face  to 
William  Mather,  bending  so  sadly  over  him,  and  whis- 
pered: 

"  Tell  them  they  may  cut  it  off,  but  not  till  you've 
written  to  Annie,  and  I  have  signed  my  name.  You 
know  how  she  has  begged  for  a  word  from  me.  Tell 
them  to  keep  away;  they  shall  not  intrude  on  my  inter- 
view with  Annie.'* 

George  was  growing  excited,  but  he  became  calm 
again  when  he  found  himself  alone  with  IVIr.  Mather, 
who  wrote  the  letter  which  gave  Annie  so  much  joy. 
There  was  nothing  in  it  of  the  expected  amputation; 
nothing  but  encouragement  that  he  should  ere  long  come 
home  to  stay  with  her  always. 

"There,  give  me  the  pen,"  he  said,  when  the  letter 
was  finished,  and  the  trembling  fingers  grasped  it  eager- 
ly, but  quickly  let  it  fall  as  the  purple,  festered  flesh 
above  the  elbow  throbbed  and  quivered  with  the  pain  the 
sudden  effort  caused.  "  Once  more;  I'll  do  it  if  it  costs 
my  hfe  !"  he  whispered,  nerving  himself  with  might  and 
main,  and  then,  with  Mr.  Mather  guiding  his  hand, 
he  wrote  his  name,  and  the  words,  "God  bless  you, 
darling  Annie !"  "It's  done,  and  she  must  never  know 
the  agony  it  cost  me,"  he  moaned,  as  his  bandaged  arm 
fell  heavily  at  his  side,  while  with  his  other  hand  he 
wiped  away  the  sweat  which  stood  so  thickly  upon  his 
face.  "  Bring  Annie's  Bible,"  he  said,  "and  lay  it  on  my 
pillow.  It  will  make  me  bear  it  better.  Oh,  Annie,  An- 
nie, if  you  could  be  here  to  pray  for  me  !     Can't  you  ?** 


THE  WOUNDED    SOLDIER.  187 

and  the  dim  eyes  turned  imploringly  toward  "Mr.  Mather, 
who  shook  his  head  hesitatingly. 

Man  of  the  world  as  he  had  been,  he  had  not  yet 
learned  to  pray,  but  he  could  not  resist  that  touching 
appeal,  and  bending  down  he  answered: 

'*  I  never  learned  to  pray,  but  while  the  operation  is 
going  on,  I'll  do  the  best  I  can.  Shall  I  caU  them 
now  r 

George  nodded,  and  William  admitted  the  two  sur- 
geons, who  were  growing  somewhat  impatient  at  the  de- 
lay. They  were  not  naturally  hard-hearted  men,  but 
years  of  practice  had  brought  them  to  look  on  amputa- 
tions in  a  mere  business  point  of  view.  Still  there  was 
something  about  this  case  which  touched  a  chord  of  sym- 
pathy, and  they  spoke  kindly  to  the  sufferer,  telling  him 
it  would  soon  be  over,  and  was  not  haK  so  bad  as  losing 
a  leg  would  be.  George  made  no  reply  except  to  shud- 
der neiwously  as  he  saw  the  cold,  poHshed  steel  so  soon 
to  cut  into  his  flesh. 

"You'll  need  bandages,"  he  said,  his  mind  flashing 
backward  to  the  day  when  he  had  looked  in  at  Rockland 
Hall,  where  Annie,  with  others,  sat  working  for  just  such 
a  scene  as  this. 

"  It's  here,"  Mr.  Mather  answered,  pointing  to  a  table 
where  lay  a  baU  prepared  for  Company  E. 

Without  knowing  why  he  did  so,  Mr.  Mather  took  it 
up  and  began  mechanically  to  unroll  it,  pausing  sudden- 
ly as  traces  of  a  pencil  met  his  view.  There  was  some- 
thing written  there, — something  which  made  him  start  as 
he  read,  "  Annie  Howai'd.  It's  your  •  Annie,  George. 
Try  to  think  I'm  there.     Rockland,  April,  1861." 

Was  it  a  happen  so,  or  a  special  providence  that  this 
bit  of  Hnen,  over  which  Annie's  prayers  had  been 
breathed,  should  come  at  last  to  him  for  whom  it  was 


138  EOSE  MATHER. 

intended  ?  Mr.  Mather  believed  the  latter,  and  pointed 
it  out  to  George,  who,  comprehending  the  truth  at  a 
glance,  uttered  a  wild,  glad  cry  of  joy  as  he  pressed  it 
to  his  hps. 

"  Yes,  Annie,  I  know  you  are  here.  I  can  feel  your 
presence,  and  it  will  help  to  ease  the  pain.  Begin  with- 
out delay.     Don't  wait,  if  it  must  be  done." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  a  shutting  of  both 
William's  and  George's  eyes,  and  a  shriek  of  anguish 
rang  through  the  room  as  George  cried  out,  "  Oh,  Annie, 
Annie,  stand  up  closer  to  me, — it  makes  me  faint,  it  hurts 
me  so  bad  !  Pray,  Mr.  Mather,  pray  !"  and  IVIr.  Mather 
did  pray,  the  first  prayer  which  had  passed  his  hps  since 
his  early  boyhood, — not  aloud,  but  silently ;  and  the 
writhing  victim  grew  still  at  last,  only  shivering  once  as 
the  sharp  saw  glided  through  the  splintered  bone.  Care- 
fully they  bound  up  the  bleeding  stump  with  the  soft  linen 
Annie  had  sent,  speaking  comforting  words  to  the  suf- 
ferer, who  seemed  to  be  stupefied,  for  he  did  not  notice 
what  they  said. 

It  was  done  at  last;  and  after  a  few  directions  the 
operators  hurried  off  to  do  for  others,  what  they  had 
done  for  George.  Poor  George,  how  long  and  weary 
"were  the  days  and  nights  immediately  succeeding  the 
amputation,  and  how  horrible  the  sensation  which 
prompted  him  to  fancy  the  severed  limb  was  there  ;  to 
feel  the  hot  blood  tinghng  through  his  finger  tips,  throb- 
bing through  his  wrists,  streaming  into  his  elbow  joints, 
and  then  to  know  'twas  all  a  mere  delusion,  for  the  right 
arm  once  so  full-  of  vigor,  was  nought  now,  save  a  putri- 
fjing  mass  buried  away  beneath  the  sod.  He  would  not 
have  Annie  know  it  yet,  he  said.  He  would  rather  spare 
her  as  long  as  possible,  and  so  the  news  was  withheld 
from  her,  while  day  after  day  George  waited  and  watched 


THE  WOUNDED  SOLDIER.  139 

for  tlie  favorable  change  which  should  make  it  safe  for 
him  to  undertake  the  tedious  journey.  Three  times  was 
the  travelling-bag  packed,  with  the  hope  of  going  to- 
morrow, and  as  often  did  the  doctor's  stern  mandate  bid 
him  wait  a  httle  longer. 

At  last  the  terribly  nervous  sensation  passed  away, 
taking  with  it  aU  the  pain,  and  leaving  no  feeliiig  save 
one  of  intense  uneasiness  and  languor,  which  the  once 
strong  man  strove  in  vain  to  shake  off,  trying  day  after 
day  to  sit  up,  if  only  for  a  moment,  and  as  often  falling 
back  upon  his  pillows  from  sheer  exhaustion.  He  was 
only  tired;  he  had  never  been  rested  since  the  battle,  he 
said,  and  if  he  could  once  go  home  to  Annie,  and  lie  upon 
the  lounge,  where  he  last  saw  her  kneeling,  he  should 
get  well  so  fast.  Often  in  his  troubled  sleep  he  tallied  of 
her,  begging  her  not  to  spurn  her  poor,  crippled  hus- 
band, but  to  love  him  just  the  same. 

"  I  never  can  work  for  you  as  I  used  to  do,"  he  would 
say,  "  never  can  buy  that  cottage  on  the  hill,  but  God 
won't  let  us  starve,  and  I  shall  love  you  so  much,  so 
much,  when  I  find  you  do  not  shrink  away  from  poor, 
mutilated  George." 

It  was  a  sad,  but  not  unprofitable  lesson,  which  "Wil- 
liam Mather  was  learning  by  that  bedside.  At  home  in 
Bockland,  where  their  positions  were  so  difi'erent,  he  had 
always  respected  George  Graham,  but  he  had  learned  to 
love  him  now  with  a  brother's  love,  and  gladly  would  he 
have  saved  him  for  the  sweet  wife  in  whom  his  own  dar- 
ling Eose  was  so  deeply  interested,  and  whose  letters 
were  silently  working  good  in  him  as  well  as  George. 
Greatly  his  personal  friends  marvelled  that  he  should 
stay  so  closely  immured  within  that  sick-room,  when  he 
might,  had  he  chosen,  have  mingled  much  in  the 
world  without,  and  many  were  the  attempts  they  made 


14:0  ROSE  MATHER 

to  drag  him  away.  But  he  withstood  them  all,  and  clung 
the  closer  to  his  friend,  who  leaned  upon  him  with  all  the 
trustful  confidence  of  a  httle  child.  Hour  after  hour  he 
sat  by  his  patient,  reading  to  him  from  Annie's  well- 
worn  Bible,  and  when  at  last  the  heavy  cloud  was  lifted, 
and  the  pathway  through  the  vaDey  of  death  was  divested 
of  its  gloom,  he  was  the  first  to  whom  the  sick  man  im- 
parted the  joyful  news,  that  whether  he  lived  or  died, 
all  was  well, — all  was  peace  within. 

In  silence  and  in  tears  Mr.  Mather  Hstened  to  the 
stoiy  of  what  was  so  strange  to  him,  and  in  the  next 
letter  sent  to  Eose,  he  told  her  of  the  new  resolves 
awakened  within  him,  tracing  them  back  to  that  humble 
cottage  in  the  Hollow,  where  Annie  Graham,  unknown, 
save  to  a  few,  was  wielding  a  mighty  power  for  good. 
Everything  which  he  could  do  for  George  he  did,  and 
Annie  herself  could  scarcely  have  been  more  gentle  or 
kind;  and  George, — oh  how  grateful  he  was  to  his  noble 
friend,  blessing  him  so  often  for  the  kindly  deeds. 

"  God  will  surely  let  you  go  home  unharmed,"  he  said 
one  day  when  Mr.  Mather  had  been  more  than  usu- 
ally attentive.  "  I  pray  to  Heaven  every  hour,  that 
you  may  never  know  the  dreary  heart-pang  it  costs  one 
to  die  away  from  home,  and  all  that  we  hold  dear,  for  I 
am  dying.  I  have  given  up  the  delusion  that  to-moiTow 
will  find  me  better.  I  shall  never  be  better  until  I  wake 
in  Heaven, — shall  never  go  back  to  Annie, — never  see 
my  old  home  again.  It  is  a  humble  home,  Mr.  Mather, 
but  you  can't  begin  to  guess  how  dear  it  is  to  me,  be- 
cause it  is  the  spot  where  I  brought  Annie  after  she  was 
mine.  How  well  I  remember  that  first  night  of  house- 
keeping; how  proud  I  felt,  knowing  it  was  my  home,  my 
table,  my  wife  sitting  opposite — that  her  own  darling 
hands  had  made  the  tea,  and  cut  the  bread  she  passed 


THE  WOUNDED  SOLDIER.  141 

me,  and  that  I  had  earned  it,  too.  The  poor  have  many 
joys  to  which  the  rich  are  strangers,  and  I've  sometimes 
thought  we  love  each  other  more  because  there  is  httle 
else  to  divide  our  love.  True  it  is  that  mortal  man 
never  loved  a  creature  better  than  I  have  loved  my 
Annie,  She  was  of  gentler  blood  than  I,— was  far  more 
delicately  reared,  and  I  know  it  was  an  unequal  match. 
She  was  far  above  me  in  social  position.  Highly  edu- 
cated and  accomplished,  too;  she  was  a  belle  and  favor- 
ite everywhere,  while  I  was  only  George  Graham, — a 
mechanic  and  engineer.  She  kept  nothing  from  me,  and 
she  told  me  of  a  childish  fancy  when  she  was  a  mere 
giii  of  fourteen,  but  if  she  ever  sent  a  regret  after  the 
handsome,  black-eyed  boy, — the  object  of  that  fancy, — it 
was  not  perceptible  to  me.  Still,  I  think  that  may  have 
had  its  influence,  —  that,  and  the  fact  that  her  life 
was  very  wretched  with  her  proud,  hard  aunt,  on  whom 
she  was  dependent,  and  who  wanted  her  to  marry  a 
white-haired  millionaire.  But  Annie  chose  me,  and  I 
have  worshipped  her  with  an  idolatry  which  I  know  was 
sinful  in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  who  will  have  the  first 
place  in  our  hearts.  I  have  told  you  all  this  because 
your  wife  has  been  a  friend  to  Annie,  and  I  want  her  to 
know  that  Annie  is  her  equal,  if  she  did  marrj  a  poor 
mechanic.  I  am  not  blaming  any  one.  I  know  the  dis- 
tinctions there  are  in  social  life.  I  should  feel  just  so, 
too,  perhaps,  if  I  was  rich  and  had  been  educated 
as  you  were.  Even  as  it  is  I  always  was  proud  to 
think  my  wife  was  a  lady-bom,  and  I  hoped  one  day  to 
raise  her  to  the  position  she  ought  to  fill.  But  that 
dream  is  over  now.  It  matters  httle  what  becomes  of 
the  body  after  the  soul  has  left  it,  though  I  should  rather 
lie  in  Eockland  graveyard,  where  Annie  can  sometimes 
come  to  see  me,  and  I  do  so  want  to  hear  her  voice  once 


'  142  BOSE  MATHER 

more  before  I  go, — to  tell  her  with  my  own  lips  that  if 
in  Heaven  I  find  a  place,  she  has  led  me  there." 

"  Suppose  we  send  for  her,"  Mr.  Mather  said,  the  glad 
thought  flashing  upon  his  mind  of  the  joy  it  would  be  to 
see  his  own  darling  once  more,  for  if  Annie  came,  Bose, 
he  knew,  was  sure  to  come  also.  "I'll  send  for  both 
Annie  and  Rose  at  once.     They  can  come  on  together." 

Mr.  Graham  made  no  objection,  and  Mr.  Mather  sefc 
himself  to  the  task  of  writing  the  letter,  which  he  hoped 
was  to  bring  not  only  Annie,  but  his  own  precious  Rose. 

"  Don't  say  a  word  about  my  arm.  I'd  rather  tell  her 
myself.  She  won't  mind  it  so  much  when  she  sees  how 
sick  and  weak  I  am,"  George  suggested;  and  so  IMr.  Ma- 
ther bade  Rose  keep  the  amputation  to  herself  as  here- 
tofore. 

"  You  will  defray  Mrs.  Graham's  expenses,"  he  wrote, 
**  and  come  as  soon  as  possible,  for  her  husband  is  nearer 
death  than  you  imagine." 

The  letter  was  finished  and  read  aloud  to  George,  who 
faintly  nodded  his  thanks,  and  then  the  message  was  sent 
on  its  way  to  the  North. 


CHAPTER  XIL 

GETTING   BEADY. 


;  W^  -^»  ^'^^  ^^^^  perfectly  splendid  news  this  morning. 
l/*^^  We  are  going  to  Washington  right  away,  you 
^^;^%/and  I,  for  Will  says  so  in  his  letter.  You  see 
George  is  a  great  deal, — George  can't, — well,  George  isn't 
very  well  /"  and  quite  dehghted  with  the  happy  turn  she 
had  given  her  words,  Rose  skipped  around  Annie's  cot- 


GETTING  BEADY.  143 

tage  like  a  bird,  lighting  at  last  upon  a  stool  at  Annie's 
feet,  and  asking  if  she  were  not  glad.  "Why,  how  white 
you  are !"  she,  exclaimed,  as  she  observed  the  paleness  of 
Annie's  cheek.     "  What  makes  you  ?    Don't  you  want  to 

gor 

Annie  was  not  deceived  by  Rose's  abrupt  turn.  She 
knew  that  George  was  worse,' else  he  had  never  sent  for 
her:  and  hence  the  sudden  faintness,  which  Rose's  gay 
badinage  could  not  shake  off  at  once. 

"  Did  your  husband  write,  or  mine  ?"  she  asked,  and 
Rose  repHed, 

"Will,  of  course.  George  has  never  written,  you 
know." 

"Yes,  I  know;"  and  in  Annie's  voice  there  was  a  tone 
approaching  nearer  to  bitterness  than  any  that  Rose  had 
ever  heard  from  her.  "  Where  is  the  letter?  Let  me 
read  it  for  myself." 

But  Rose  had  found  it  convenient  to  leave  the  letter 
at  home,  and  so  she  answered, 

"I  did  not  biing  it  with  me.     I  can  tell  you  all  there 

is  in  it." 

"But  will  you?"   and   Annie   grasped  her   shoulder 
jBrmly.     "  Will  you  teU  mc  aU  ?     Tell  me  what  it  is  about 
my  husband,  and  why  he  never  writes?    Is  George  dy 
ing,  and  is  that  the  reason  why  he  sends  for  me?     Tell 
me,  Mrs.  Mather,  for  I  wiU  not  be  put  off  longer." 

There  was  a  look  in  the  blue  eyes  before  which  Rose 
faii'ly  quailed,  and  turning  her  face  away  she  answered 
truthfully, 

"  Yes,  George  is  very  sick.  He  will  never  come  homo 
again;  and  he  wants  you  there  when  he  dies." 

Softly  the  quivering  lips  repeated,  "When  he  dies!" 
poor  Annie  wondering  if  it  could  be  George  who  was 
meant.     Had  the  evil  she  most  dreaded  come  upon  her 


144  BOSE  MATHEE. 

at  last  ?  Must  she  give  her  husband  up  and  Uve  without 
him?  How  dark,  how  cheerless  the  future  looked, 
Btretching  before  her  through  many  years  it  might  be! 
Was  there  no  hope, — no  help  ?  It  was  Annie's  darkest 
hour  of  trial,  and  for  a  moment  the  spirit  faint  d,  refus- 
ing to  bear  the  load  which,  though  more  than  half-ex- 
pected, had  come  so  sudden  at  the  last.  But  Annie  was 
not  one  to  murmur  long,  and  Rose  Mather  never  forgot 
the  s^eet  submissive  smile  which  played  over  her  white 
face  as  she  said, 

"  'WTiether  George  hves  or  dies,  God  will  do  all  things 
well." 

After  this  there  was  no  more  repining,  no  more  bitter- 
ness of  tone,  nothing  save  humble  submission  to  what- 
ever might  be  in  store  for  her. 

Rose  was  very  enthusiastic  on  the  subject  of  the  Wash- 
ington trip,  and  Annie  hstened  eagerly  to  her  sugges- 
tions. 

"It  is  absurd  for  two  young  ladies  like  us  to  travel 
alone,"  Rose  said.  "We  must  have  some  nice  elderly 
woman  to  matronize  the  party.  I  mean  to  write  to 
mother  to  send  up  one  from  Boston." 

"  IVIiss  Marthers,"  interrupted  the  Widow  Simms,  who 
sat  by  the  window  knitting  for  some  soldier  boy,  "  Miss 
Marthers,  don't  be  a  simpleton,  a  sendin'  down  to  Bos- 
ton for  somebody  to  martemize  you  and  IMiss  Graham, 
when  you  can  find  forty  of  'em  nearer  home.  "  Let  me 
go.  Eli  and  John  are  there,  you  know;  and  'tain't  such 
a  great  ways  to  Richmond,  where  my  poor  Isaac  is.  Did 
I  teU  you  I  got  a  letter  last  night  from  a  strange  woman 
up  in  New  Hampshire,  whose  boy  was  in  the  battle? 
The  rascals  let  your  brother  write  to  her,  because  there 
was  something  between  her  Charlie  and  a  rebel  officer 


GETTING  FiEADY.  145 

wlio  was  good  to  the  child,  when  he  was  dyin'.  There's 
now  and  then  a  streak  of  good  amongst  'em." 

"Yes;  but  what  of  Tom?"  Eose  asked  eagerly,  for- 
getting Washington  in  her  anxiety  to  hear  from  her 
brother,  of  whom  not  one  word  had  been  known  after 
his  name  had  appeared  in  the  paper  as  one  of  the  pris- 
oners at  Richmond,  together  with  that  of  a  boy  called 
"Isaac  Simpson." 

The  more  humane  of  Captain  Carleton's  captors  had 
repeated  what  the  dying  officer  said  of  Tom's  kindness 
to  him,  and  for  this  Tom  had  at  last  found  opportunity 
for  sending  a  note  to  CharHe's  mother,  telling  her  how  her 
darling  died,  and  asking  her  to  write  for  him  to  his 
mother,  his  sister  and  the  ^Vidow  Simms.  This  the 
grateful  woman  had  done,  but  Rose  had  not  received  her 
letter  yet,  and  she  listened  eagerly  while  the  widow  read 
the  veiy  words  which  Tom  had  written  concerning  him- 
seK  and  Isaac.  There  was  but  little  said  of  suffering  or 
privation.  Tom,  it  would  seem,  was  tolerably  well  cared 
for,  but  he  told  of  days  and  nights  when  his  heart  went 
out  in  earnest  longings  for  the  loved  ones  at  home,  and 
then  he  spoke  of  Isaac,  saying, 

"  Tell  his  mother  that  he  does  not  bear  prison  confine- 
ment well,  and  she  would  hardly  know  her  boy.  He  is 
very  popular  among  his  fellow  prisoners,  and  does  more 
good,  I  verily  believe,  than  half  our  army  chaplains. 
One  poor  fellow,  who  died  the  other  day,  blessed  Isaac 
Simms  as  the  means  of  leading  him  to  Heaven." 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  he's  there,  ain't  yoji  ?"  and  the  tears 
shone  in  Rose's  eyes  as  she  involuntarily  paid  this  trib- 
ute to  Christianity. 

"  On  some  accounts  I  am,  and  then  again  I  ain't,"  was 
the  widow's  reply,  as  she  wiped  the  moisture  from  her 
glasses  and  returned  them  to  her  pocket.  "I'm  glad 
7 


146  ROSE   MATHER. 

he's  doing  good,  but  I  don't  want  him  sick  there  alone, 
without  his  mother.  It's  hard  to  see  why  these  things 
are  so,  but  that's  nothin'  to  do  with  the  goin'  to 
Washington.  Will  you  take  me,  Mrs.  Marthers  ?  I  know 
I'm  homespun  and  ignorant,  but  you  may  call  me  waitin 
maid,  or  anj-thing  you  hke,  if  youll  only  take  me." 

The  widow's  voice  was  fuU  of  entreaty,  and  Rose 
could  not  resist  it.  It  would  be  grander,  she  thought,  to 
have  a  woman  from  Boston,  but  then  Mrs.  Simms  wanted 
to  go  so  badly,  while  Annie,  too,  preferred  her,  she  was 
sure.  So  it  was  settled  that  as  soon  as  the  necessary 
arrangements  could  be  made,  Mrs.  Simms,  Annie  and 
Rose  were  to  start  for  the  Federal  Capital.  Had  the 
care  of  an  entire  regiment  devolved  upon  Rose,  she  could 
not  have  been  busier  or  have  felt  a  greater  responsibility 
than  she  did  in  planning  and  arranging  the  journey,  and 
between  times  trying  to  initiate  Widow  Simms  into  the 
mysteries  of  travelling,  telling  her  not  to  be  frightened 
and  think  they'd  run  off  the  track  each  time  the  whistle 
blew, — not  to  show  undue  anxiety  about  her  baggage,  as 
she — Rose — should  hold  the  checks,  httle  brass  pieces," 
which  they  would  get  at  the  depot, — not  to  bother  the 
conductor  by  asking  questions,  or  let  the  people  know 
that  she  had  never  been  further  in  the  cars  than  Roch- 
ester. 

To  aU  these  directions  the  widow  gravely  promised 
compliance,  saying,  in  an  aside  to  Annie,  "It  does  me 
good  to  see  the  Httle  critter  pattemize  me,  as  if  she 
p'posed  I  was  a  tamal  fool,  and  didn't  know  a  steam  loco- 
foco  from  a  canal  boat." 

The  day  before  the  one  appointed  for  the  commence- 
ment of  the  journey  came  at  last.  Rose's  three  trunks, 
of  the  size  which  makes  the  porters  sivear,  were  packed 
to  their  utmost  capacity,  for  Rose  meant  to  make  a  win- 


GETTING  READY.  147 

ter*s  campaign,  and  display  her  numerous  dresses  at 
parties  and  levees.  So  eTerything  which  she  could  pos- 
sibly and  impossibly  need,  even  to  her  skating  dress,  was 
stowed  away  in  the  huge  boxes,  together  with  various 
luxuries  for  her  husband  and  George,  and  then,  as  the 
afternoon  was  drawing  to  a  close,  she  started  for  the  cot- 
tage in  the  Hollow,  to  see  that  everything  there  was  in 
readiness. 

It  had  not  taken  the  widow  long  to  pack  up  her  three 
dresses,  and  her  small,  old-fashioned  hair  trunk,  locked 
and  tied  round  with  a  bit  of  rope,  was  standing  near  the 
door  ready  for  the  morrow's  early  train.  On  Annie's 
face  there  was  a  hopeful,  expectant  expression,  which 
told  how  glad  she  was  at  the  prospect  of  meeting  her 
husband  so  soon. 

"  Two  days  more  and  I  shall  see  him,"  she  thought, 
picturing  to  herself  the  meetiag,  and  fancying  what  she 
would  do,  what  she  would  say,  and  how  carefully  she 
would  nurse  him  when  once  she  was  there  with  him.  It 
was  a  bright  picture  she  drew  of  that  meeting  with  her 
husband, — of  the  kisses,  the  caresses,  she  would  lavish 
upon  him,  and  she  was  almost  as  impatient  as  Rose  her- 
self to  have  the  November  day  come  to  an  end,  knowing 
that  with  the  darkness  she  was  nearer  to  the  asked-for 
to-morrow. 

Just  as  the  sun  was  setting,  Eose  took  her  leave,  say- 
ing, as  she  bade  Annie  good-bye,  **  I  mean  to  drive  round 
by  the  depot  and  get  the  tickets  to-night,  so  as  to  save 
time  in  the  morning." 

Annie  smiled  at  the  little  lady's  restlessness,  and  after 
kissing  her  good-night,  stood  by  the  window  watching 
her,  as  she  drove  down  the  street,  and  thinking  to  her- 
self, 

"  When  I  see  her  again  it  will  be  to-morrow." 


148  EOSE  MATHER. 

Piapidl}^  Rose  Mather's  iron  greys  bore  her  to  the  de- 
pot, where  but  a  few  idlers  were  lounging,  as  it  was  past 
the  hour  for  the  cars.  The  window  between  the  ladies' 
sitting  room,  and  the  office  was  closed,  and  Hose  knocked 
against  it  in  vain.  The  ticket  agent  had  gone  to  his  tea, 
and  with  a  feeling  of  dissatisfaction  Rose  was  turning 
away,  when  a  sharp,  clicking  sound  from  an  adjoining 
apartment  reached  her  ear,  and  stepping  to  the  open  door, 
she  stood  looking  in,  while  the  telegi-aphic  operator  re- 
ceived a  communication.  'WTiat  was  it  that  made  him  start 
so,  and  utter  an  exclamation  of  surprise  ?  Was  it  bad 
news  the  wires  had  brought  to  him?  Had  there  been 
another  battle?  Was  Washington  in  danger?  Rose 
wished  she  knew,  and  she  was  about  to  inquire,  when 
the  operator  turned  upon  her,  and  asked  if  she  knew  3Irs. 
GraJiam,  wife  of  the  Lieutenant  ? 

"Yes,  yes;  has  anything  happened  to  him  ?"  she  an- 
swered, grasping  the  now  written  message,  which  the 
agent  handed  her,  saying: 

"  Break  it  to  her  as  gently  as  possible.  He  was  the 
finest  fellow  in  all  the  company,"  and  the  kind-hearted 
man,  not  yet  accustomed  to  the  horrors  entailed  by  the 
war,  wiped  a  tear  away,  as  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  Poor 
George  !" 

There  was  no  need  for  Rose  to  open  the  envelope,  for 
she  knew  well  enough  what  it  contained,  but  her  fingers 
mechanically  tore  it  apart,  and  with  streaming  eyes  she 
read  the  fatal  message  which  would  break  poor  Annie's 
heart. 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  tell  her,"  she  cried,  sinking  down  upon 
the  hard  settee,  and  sobbing  bitterly.  "How  can  I 
take  tliis  to  hf;r,  M'hen  I  left  her  so  happy  half  an  hour 
8^0?" 


GETTING  HEADY.  149 

But  it  must  be  done,  and  summoning  all  her  courage 
she  bade  Jake  drive  back  to  the  Hollow,  shivering  as  she 
saw  the  cheerful  light  shining  from  the  window,  and 
shrinking  more  ajid  more  from  the  task  imposed  upon 
her,  when,  as  she  drew  nearer,  she  saw  Annie's  bright, 
joj^ous  face  as  she  put  together  the  garments  for  to-mor- 
row, pausing  occasionally  to  speak  to  Widow  Simms,  who 
sat  before  the  blazing  fire,  dreaming  visions  of  what  might 
be  could  she  but  get  a  pass  to  Richmond  ! 

"  Don't  you  hear  wheels  ?"  the  widow  asked  as  the  car- 
riage stopped  before  the  gate. 

Annie  thought  she  did,  and  going  to  window  she  saw 
Rose  as  she  came  up  she  walk. 

"  Why,  it's  JVIrs.  Mather,"  she  cried.  "  What  can  have 
brought  her  back  to-night  ?"  and  hastening  to  the  door 
she  led  Rose  in,  asking  why  she  was  there. 

"  Oh,  Annie,"  Rose  replied,  winding  her  arms  around 
Annie's  neck,  '-'  I  wish  I  did  not  have  to  tell,  but  I  must, 
and  I  know  it  will  kill  you  dead.  I'm  sure  it  would  me, 
and  I  don't  see  why  you  should  be  served  so  either.  We 
shall  not  go  to-morrow,  for  Will  is  going  to  bring  him 
home.  Don't  you  know  now  ?  Can't  you  guess  ?"  and 
Rose  thrust  the  dispatch  into  the  hands  of  the  bewildered 
Annie,  who  clutched  it  eagerly,  and  bending  to  the  lamp- 
light, read  what  Rose  had  read  before  her. 

It  came  to  her  like  a  thunderbolt,  striking  all  the  deep- 
er because  it  found  her  so  full  of  eager  expectation;  and 
the  November  wind,  as  it  swept  past  the  door,  and  down 
the  lonely  Hollow,  took  with  it  one  waihng  cry  of  anguish, 
and  then  all  was  still  within  the  cottage,  save  the  sobbing 
whispers  of  Widow  Simms  and  Rose  bending  over  the 
unconscious  form  which  lay  upon  the  bed,  so  white  and 
still  that  a  terrible  fear  entered  the  hearts  of  .both  lest 
the  stricken  Annie,  too,  were  dead. 


150  EOSE   MATHER. 

CHAPTER  XnL 

THE     DYING      SOLDIEB. 


ACKWAED  now  we  turn,  and  stand  again  in  tlie 
^^^  chamber  where  we  saw  the  glitter  of  the  polished 
'x^C  steel,  and  heard  the  bitter  cry  forced  out  by  pain 
from  Hps  unused  to  give  such  sign  of  weakness.  They 
were  white  now  as  the  ^vintry  snow  which  covers  the 
Northern  hills,  and  the  breath  came  feebly  from  between 
them,  as  the  sick  man  whispered  faintly: 

"I  shall  not  be  here  if  Annie  comes,  for  when  the 
drum  beats  on  the  morrow,  calling  my  comrades  to  their 
daily  diill,  I  shall  be  far  away  where  sounds  of  battle 
were  never  heard  but  once.  Oh  the  peace,  the  quiet,  the 
rest,  there  is  in  Heaven.  I  hope  you  will  one  day  come 
to  share  it  with  me;  you  who  have  been  kinder  than  a 
brother,'*  and  the  long,  white  fingers  grasped  the  hand 
which  for  so  many  days  and  weeks  had  soothed  the  ach- 
ing head  and  cooled  the  fevered  pillows  with  all  a  wo- 
man's tenderness. 

Never  for  an  hour  had  that  faithful  fi'iend  deserted  his 
post.  Day  and  night  had  found  him  there,  ministering 
to  every  want,  and,  as  far  as  human  aid  could  do,  smooth- 
ing the  pathway  leading  so  surely  down  to  death.  But 
his  vigils  were  almost  over  now;  his  release  was  just  at 
hand,  for,  as  George  had  said,  the  morrow's  drum-beat 
would  only  find  there  the  body,  which  was  so  worn  by 
suffering  and  disease,  that  "William  Mather  could  lift  it  in 
his  arms  as  easily  as  he  could  have  lifted  a  little  child. 
He  was  greatly  changed  from  the  days  when  he  had  been 
aptly  called  the  Rockland  Hercules.  But  as  the  outer 
man  decayed,  the  inner  hfe  grew  strong  and  bright,  shin- 


THE  DYING  SOLDIER.  151 

ing  forth  at  the  last  with  aU  the  splendor  which  perfect 
faith  in  Christ's  Atonement  can  shed  around  a  death-bed. 
There  was  no  repining  now,  no  murmuring  at  the  myste- 
rious dealings  of  Providence,  nothing  but  sweet,  childish 
confidence,  and  a  patient  waiting  for  the  end  coming  on 
so  fast  that  George  himself  could  feel  the  iiTegiilar  beat 
of  his  wiry  pulse,  and  mark  the  death  hue  as  it  came 
creeping  on,  settling  first  in  purplish  spots  about  his  fin- 
ger tips,  and  spreading  its  ashen  coloring  over  his  clam- 
my hands. 

A  stormy  November  night  had  closed  over  Washington, 
and  the  rain  beat  dismally  against  the  windows  of  the 
room  where  Mr.  Mather  bent  over  the  dying  soldier,  lis- 
tening to  what  he  said. 

"You  can't  tell  Annie  all"  George  whispered,  looking 
fondly  up  into  the  face  he  had  learned  to  love  so  well. 
*' You  must  write  it  down  so  as  not  to  lose  a  single  word. 
Bring  pen  and  paper,  and  then  sit  where  I  can  see  you, 
for  the  sight  of  you  does  me  good;  you  have  been  so  kind 
to  me. 

The  writing  utensils  were  brought,  and  then  sitting 
where  George  could  look  into  his  face,  IVlr.  Mather  wrote 
as  the  dying  man  dictated : 

My  deae,  dear,  dakung  Annie:— It  will  be  days,  perhaps,  before 
you  see  this  letter,  and  ere  it  reaches  you  somebo«iy  wall  have  told 
you  that  your  poor  George  is  dead  !  Are  you  ciyirg,  darling,  as  you 
read  this?  Do  the  tears  fall  upon  the  words,  'poor  George  is  dead?* 
Don't  cry,  my  precious  Annie.  It  makes  my  heart  ache  to  think  how 
you  will  sorrow  and  I  not  there  to  comfort  you.  It's  hard  to  die 
away  from  home,  but  not  so  hard  as  it  would  once  have  been,  for  I 
hope  I  am  a  different  man  from  the  one  who  bade  you  good-bye  a  few 
short  months  ago  ;  and,  darling,  it  must  comfort  you  to  know  that 
your  prayers,  your  sweet  influence  have  led  the  wanderer  home  to 
God.  We  shaU  meet  again  in  Heaven,  Annie,— meet  where  partings 
are  unknown.  It  may  be  many  years,  perhaps,  and  the  grass  upon 
my  grave  may  blossom  many  times  ere  yon  will  sleep  the  sleep  which 


152  ROSE   MATHER 

knows  no  waking  but  at  the  last  you'll  come  where  I  am  waiting  you 
I  knov}  I  shall  be  there,  Annie.  All  the  harassing  doubts  and  feara 
are  gone.  Simple  faith  in  the  Saviour's  promise  has  taken  them  away, 
and  left  me  perfect  peace.  Gk>d  bless  you,  Annie  darling,  and  grant 
that  as  you  have  guided  me,  so  you  may  guide  others  to  that  home 
above,  where  I  am  going  so  fast.  You  have  made  me  very  happy 
since  you  have  been  my  wife,  and  I  bless  you  for  it.  It  makes  ray 
death  pillow  easier  to  know  that  not  one  bitter  word  has  ever  passed 
between  us, — nothing  but  perfect  confidence  and  love.  I  was  not 
good  enough  for  you,  darling.  None  knows  thiit  better  than  myself. 
You  should  have  married  one  of  gentler  blood  and  higher  birth  than 
I,  a  poor  mechanic.  I  have  always  felt  this  more  than  you,  perhaps, 
and  have  tried  so  hard  not  to  shame  you  with  my  homespun  ways, 
had  I  lived,  I  should  have  improved  constantly  beneath  your  refining 
influence,  but  that  is  all  past  now,  and  it  is  well,  perhaps,  that  it  is 
60.  As  you  grew  older  you  mighi  have  felt  there  was  a  lack  in  me,  a 
something  which  did  not  satisfy  the  cravings  of  your  higher  nature, 
and  though  you  might  not  have  loved  me  less,  you  would  have  seen 
that  we  were  not  wholly  congenial.  I  am  well  enough  in  my  way, 
but  1  am  not  a  suitable  companion  for  a  girl  of  culture  like  yourself^ 
and  I've  often  wondered  that  you  should  have  chosen  me.  But  you 
did,  and  again  I  bless  you  for  it.  Never,  never,  was  year  so  happy  as 
the  one  I  spent  with  you,  my  darling,  darling  Annie,  and  I  was  look- 
ing forward  to  many  such,  but  God  has  decreed  it  otherwise,  and 
what  he  does  we  know  is  right.  I  shall  never  see  you  again  !  and 
though  they  will  bring  me  back  to  you,  I  shall  not  feel  your  tears 
upon  my  face,  or  see  you  bending  over  my  coffin-bed  !  Still  I  know 
you  will  do  this,  and  that  makes  it  necessary  for  me  to  tell  what,  per- 
haps, has  been  too  long  withheld,  because  I  would  spare  you  if  pos- 
sible. 

*' Annie,  had  I  Hved,  I  never  could  have  toiled  for  you  as  I  once 
did,  for  where  the  right  arm,  which  has  held  your  light  form  so  often, 
used  to  be,  there  is  nothing  now  but  a  scarred  stump,  and  this  is 
why  I  have  not  written.  Does  it  make  you  sicken  and  shrink  away 
from  me  ?  Don't,  Annie.  Your  crippled  husband's  heart  is  as  full 
of  tenderness  now  as  ever.  I  was  too  proud  of  my  figure,  Annie,  and 
the  thoug}\t  that  you  might  love  me  less  when  you  knew  how  maimed 
I  was,  hurt  more  than  the  cold,  sharp  steel,  cutting  into  my  throbbing 
flesh. 

"And  now,  dear  Annie,  I  come  to  the  hardest  part  of  all  I  know 
just  how  you'll  start  and  shudder  at  what  you  deem  so  cruel  a  sugges- 


THE    DYING   SOLDIER.  153 

tion, — know  just  how  keen  the  pang  will  be,  for  I  have  felt  the  same, 
and  my  spirit  well  nigh  fainted  as  I  thought  of  the  time  when  anoth- 
er's caressess  than  mine  would  caU  the  sweet  love  hght  to  your  eye 
and  kindle  the  soft  blushes  on  your  cheek.  Listen  to  me,  Annie. 
You'U  be  glad  one  day  to  remember  that  I  told  you  what  I  did.  You 
are  young  and  beautiful,  and  though  you  do  not  believe  it  now,  the  time 
wiU  surely  come  when  my  grave  will  not  be  visited  as  often  as  at  first, 
and  the  flowers  you  will  plant  above  me  when  next  spring's  sun  is 
shining  will  wither  for  want  of  care,  and  the  rank  grass  growing  there 
will  not  be  trodden  down  by  yoiir  dear  little  feet,  for  they  wiU  be 
waiting  by  another  fireside  than  ours  in  the  HoUow,  and  my  Annie , 
will  bear  another  name  than  mine.  Do  you  discredit  me,  darling  ? 
It  will  surely  be,  and  I  am  willing  that  it  should,  but  you  wiU  never 
know  the  anguish  it  costs  me  to  be  willing.  It  is  the  bitterest  drop 
in  all  the  bitter  cup,  but  I  drank  it  with  tears  and  prayers,  and  now 
I  can  calmly  say  to  you  what  I  am  saying, — can  even  from  my  death- 
bed give  you  to  another,  whoever  he  may  be.  You  can  never  forget 
me,  I  know;  never  forget  your  soldier  husband,  who  fell  in  his  coun- 
try's cause,  but  by  and  by  thoughts  of  him  will  cease  to  give  you 
pain,  and  our  short  married  life  will  seem  like  some  far-off  dream. 

"I  cannot  say  how  it  would  be  with  me  were  you  taken  and  I  left, 
but  I  am  much  hke  other  men,  and  judging  from  their  example  I 
should  do  just  as  they  do,  so  if  in  after  years  another  asks  you,  as  I 
once  did,  to  be  his  guiding  star,  don't  refuse  for  me.  Think  that 
from  my  low  grave  I  bless  you  in  your  new  relations,  and  will  wel- 
come you  to  Heaven  all  the  same,  though  you  come  fettered  and 
bound  with  other   links  than  those    my  love  has   thrown  around 

yOTL 

*'I  am  almost  done  now,  Annie.  There  is  a  gathering  film  before 
my  eyes,  and  I  feel  the  death  chill  creeping  through  my  veins.  It 
would  DC  sweet  to  have  you  here,  as  I  go  down  the  brink  up  which 
no  traveler  has  ever  come;  but  it  cannot  be,  and  I  will  not  repine. 
There  is  One  with  me  whose  presence  is  dearer  far  than  yours  could 
be;  One  whose  everlasting  arm  will  be  beneath  me  as  I  pass  over 
Jordan.  Leaning  on  Him  I  need  no  other  stay,  but  shall  go  fear- 
lessly down  to  death.  There  is  another  with  me,  too,— an  earthly 
friend,  who  has  been  kinder  than  a  brother,  and  my  heart  clings  to 
him  more  fondly  than  he  can  ever  guess.  Always  respect  William 
Mather,  Annie,  for  what  he  has  been  to  me.  Pray  that  prosperity 
may  attend  him  aU  his  days,  and  that  at  the  last  he  may  find  a  place  in 
Heaven.     He  is  thinking  of  these  things,  I  know,  and  from  the 


154:  ROSE   MATHER. 

dreary  hours  spent  with  me  there  may  yet  spring  up  plants  of  ever- 
lasting growth. 

' '  My  mind  begins  to  wander,  darling.  There's  a  rushing  sound  in 
my  ears,  while  thoughts  of  you  and  thoughts  of  that  terrible  Sabbath 
battle  are  blended  together.  Good-bye,  my  precious  one.  Don't 
cry  too  much  when  you  read  this.  It  is  not  good-bye  forever.  A  few 
more  years  of  earth  to  you,  a  moment  of  heavenly  bliss  to  me, 
and  then  we  meet  again,  where  golden  harps  are  ringing.  I  can 
almost  hear  them  now,— almost  see  the  shining  throngs  sent  out  to 
meet  me,  just  as  I  once  vainly  dreamed  the  Rockland  people  would 
come  to  welcome  me  home  from  war.  In  fancy  I  put  my  arms  around 
your  neck  just  as  I  used  to  do;  in  fancy  hold  you  to  my  bosom  ; 
in  fancy  loss  your  girlish  lips,  and  smooth  your  pale  brown  hair. 

•'  I  don't  kjiow  how  you'll  live  without  me  ;  don't  know  who  will 
earn  your  bread,  but  the  God  of  the  widow  and  fatherless  will  surely 
care  for  my  darling  and  keep  her  heart  from  breaking.  With  him  I 
leave  you,  knowing  you  are  safer  there  than  elsewhere. 

«  Good-bye ,  good-bye. " 

There  were  great  tear  blots  upon  tliis  letter,  for  Mr. 
Mather,  as  he  penned  it,  had  wept  over  it  like  a  child, 
forming  a  resolution  which  he  wondered  had  not  sug- 
gested itself  before.  Kneeling  by  the  dying  George,  he 
said,  "  God  loill  care  for  your  darling,  and  I  shall  be  His 
instrument.  So  long  as  I  have  a  home,  Annie  shall  not 
suffer.  Rose's  love  was  given  to  her  long  ago  and  mine 
will  follow  soon.     She  shall  be  a  sister  to  us  both." 

The  glazed  eyes  lighted  up  with  joy,  and  the  white  Hps 
whispered  the  thanks  which  ended  in  a  prayer  for  bless- 
ings on  one  who  had  proved  himself  so  kind  to  the  poor 
soldier. 

"  Come  closer  to  me,"  they  said;  "  take  my  hand  in 
yours  and  keep  it  there  while  I  thank  you  for  what 
you've  been  to  me.  Tou'U  forgive  me,  I  know,  that  I 
ever  thought  you  proud,  for  I  did,  and  sometimes  there 
was  a  bitter  feeling  in  my  heart  when  I  saw  your  Rose 
surrounded  with  every  -luxury,  and  thought  of  Annie,  aa 


THE    DYING   SOLDIER.  155 

highly  educated  as  she,  taking  a  far  lower  place  in  Eock- 
land,  because  her  husband  was  a  mechanic.  There  ia 
more  of  that  feehng  among  the  working  classes  than  you 
imagine,  and  you  don't  know  how  much  good  a  famihar 
word  or  a  little  notice  from  such  a  you  does  to  those  who 
fill  the  humbler  walks  of  life.  Women  feel  this  more 
than  men,  and  again  I  bless  you  for  the  care  promised  my 
Annie.  I  do  not  ask  that  you  should  take  her  to  your 
home  as  you  suggest.  You'll  think  differently  of  that  bye 
and  by,  but  see  that  she  does  not  want;  see  that  no  win- 
ter night  shaU  find  her  hungry,  no  winter  morning  cold. 
Oh,  Annie,  Annie,  that  you  should  ever  come  to  this!" 

It  was  a  bitter,  waihng  cry,  embodying  aU  the  mighty 
love  the  sick  man  had  ever  felt  for  his  young  wife.    George 
had  thought  himself  resigned,  but  weak  human  nature, 
which  clings  so  tenaciously  to  Hfe,  was  making  one  last 
efi'ort  for  the  mastery,  and  the  worn  spirit  fainted  for  a 
time  in  the  fierce  struggle  which  ensued.     The  mind  be- 
gan to  wander,  and  was  in  fancy  back  again  at  the  cot- 
tao-e  in  the  Hollow,  where  the  soldier  clasped  his  Anme 
to\is  bosom,  begging  of  her  in  piteous  tones  not  to  love 
him  less  because  he  was  a  cripple.    "  I  have  only  one  arm 
to  work  with  now,  but  I  won't  let  you  starve,  for  when 
there's  but  one  crust  left,  I'U  give  it  all  to  you,  and  laugh 
so  merrily  that  you  will  never  gaess  how  the  hunger  pain 
is  gnawino-  at  my  heart.     I've  felt  it  once,  my  darhng.     I 
know  just  what  it's  Hke.     'Twas   on  that  terrible   day 
when  our  brave  boys  met  the  foe,  way  up  there  at  Man- 
assas.    There  were  hours,  and  hours,  and  hours,  when 
we  neither  ate  nor  di-ank,  and  the  July  sun  poured  down 
so  hotly,  drying  the  perspiration  which  dropped  from  my 
hair  like  rain.     'Twas  my  very  life  I  sweat  away  that  aw- 
ful day,  fighting  for  the  Union.     Did  you  hear  the  bat- 
tle   Annie,— hear  the  cannon's  beUowing  thunder  as  it 


156  ROSE  MATHER. 

echoed  tlirougli  the  Vii'ginia  woods  ?  Wasn't  it  ^and, 
the  yell  the  Highlanders  gave,  as,  with  the  G9th,  they 
bore  down  battery  after  battery,  and  plunged  into  the 
enemy's  midst !  How  bravely  our  company  played  their 
part,  fighting  their  way  through  shot  and  shell,  and 
blood  and  brains,  wading  ankle-deep  in  human  gore! 
Hurrah  for  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  my  boys !  Three 
cheers  for  the  Federal  Flag !  Yes,  give  us  three  times 
three ;  and  when  it  floats  again  over  all  the  land,  remem- 
ber the  soldiers  who  helped  defend  it.  Hurrah,  hui'- 
rah!" 

Mr.  Mather  shuddered  as  the  wild  shout  rang  through 
the  room.  It  seemed  so  hke  a  mockery,  that  dying  sol- 
dier shouting  for  hberty,  and  trying  in  vain  to  wave  aloft 
his  poor,  scarred  stump.  Anon,  however,  the  patriotic 
mood  was  changed,  and  the  voice  was  very  sad  which 
whispered: 

"But  hush!  what  sounds  are  these,  mingUng  in  the 
glad  notes  of  \dctory  ?  'Tis  the  widow,  the  orphan,  the 
mother,  weeping  over  the  slain  !  There's  mourning  East 
and  West;  there's  weeping  North  and  South,  for  the 
dead  who  will  return  no  more  !  A  crushed  rebelhon  is 
hardly  worth  the  fearful  price.  Oh,  Annie,  pray  for  the 
poor  soldier, — everybody  pray.  Honor  our  memory, — 
forget  our  faults, — speak  kindly  of  us  when  we  are  gone. 
We  gave  our  hfe  for  freedom !  'Tis  aU  that  we  can  do. 
Speak  kindly  of  the  soldiers  slaia !" 

Reason  was  stniggHng  back  again;  and  bending  lower, 
Mr.  Mather  said  : 

"  George,  we  idU  honor  the  soldiers  dead,  and  cai-e  for 
the  soldiers  Hving." 

*'Yes,  yes!"  George  answered,  faintly.  "They  need 
it  so  much, — more  than  the  people  guess  who  stay  at 
home  and  read  about  the  war.     It  will  be  long,  and  the 


THE   DYING  SOLDIER.  157 

contest  terrible.  The  North  is  strong,  and  the  South 
determined,  and  both  will  fight  Hke  fiends.  *But  right 
must  conquer  at  last,  and  the  Star  Spangled  Banner 
shall  wave  again  even  over  misguided  Charleston,  whose 
sous  and  daughters  shall  weep  for  joy  as  they  greet  the 
joyful  sight.     God  speed  the  happy  day  !" 

]Mr.  Mather  could  only  press  the  hand  which  lay  again 
in  his.  He  could  not  speak,  for  he  knew  there  was  a 
third  presence  now  in  the  sick-room, — that  its  dark  form 
was  shading  the  bed  whereon  he  sat,  and  with  that  feel- 
ing of  awe  death  always  inspires,  he  sat  silently  watch- 
ing its  progress,  and  thinking,  it  may  be,  of  the  future 
time  when  William  Mather  would  be  the  dying  one  instead 
of  George  Graham.  Slowly  the  marble  pallor  and  the 
strange  chill  crept  on,  pinching  the  nose,  contracting  the 
Hps,  touching  the  forehead  and  moistening  the  soft  brown 
hair  which  Wilham  smoothed  caressiugly,  as  he  bent 
down  to  catch  the  last  faant  whisperings  of  a  spu'it  nearly 
gone. 

"  We  fought  the  battle  bravely.  Tell  them  not  to  be 
discouraged  because  of  one  defeat.  Our  cause  is  just. 
'Twill  triumph  at  the  last.  Don't  be  too  bitter  toward 
the  South ;  there  are  kind  hearts  there  as  well  as  here, 
and  its  daughters  weep  as  sadly  as  any  at  the  North. 
God  help  and  pity  them  all.  Annie,  darling,  I  am  almost 
home;  so  near  that  I  can  see  the  pearly  gates  which 
stand  open  night  and  day.  It  is  not  hard  to  die, — no 
pain,  no  anguish  now, — nothing  but  joy  and  gladness 
and  everlasting  red,  rest, — perfect  rest  for  the  Re- 
deemed." 


Drearily  the  November  wind  went  sweeping  down  the 
street,  and  the  sobbing  rain  beat  against  the  window, 
whilst  the  misty  dajhght  came  struggling   faintly  into 


158  ROSE   MATHER. 

the  silent  room  -which  held  the  living  and  the  dead  ;  the 
one  cold,*  and  white,  and  still,  his  features  wearing  a 
smile  of  peace  as  if  he  had  indeed  entered  into  everlast- 
ing rest, — the  other  kneehng  by  his  side,  and  with  his 
face  buried  in  the  pillows,  praying  that  when  his  time 
should  come,  he,  too,  might  die  the  death  of  the  righte- 
ous, and  go  where  George  had  gone. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


;^^V«-»v]£M  MATTERS   IN    ROCKLAND. 

l^f^^ITH  quivering  lip  Mr.  Mather  told  the  members 
f\i^  of  Company  R  that  their  Heutenant  was  dead  ; 
^0y^  and  strong  men  as  they  were  they  did  not  deem 
themselves  unmanly  that  they  wiped  the  big  tears  away, 
and  crowding  around  their  informer  anxiously  asked  for 
particulars  of  their  departed  comrade,  all  speaking  kind- 
ly of  him,  and  each  thinking  of  the  sweet  girl-wife  at 
home  on  whom  the  news  would  fall  so  crushingly.  A 
soldier's  dying  was  no  novel  thing  in  Washington, 
and  so,  aside  from  Company  E,  there  were  few  who 
knew  or  cared  that  another  soul  had  gone  to  the  God 
who  gave  it, — that  another  ^dctim  was  added  to  the  list 
which  shall  one  day  come  up  with  fearful  blackness  be- 
fore the  provokers  of  the  war.  The  drums  beat  just  the 
same, — the  bands  played  just  as  merrily,  and  the  busy 

tide  went    on    as  if   the  quiet   chamber  in    street 

held  no  stiffened  form,  once  as  full  of  hfe  and  hope  as 
the  gay  troops  marching  by. 

But  away  to  the  Northward  there  was  bitter  mourn- 
ing, and  many  a  bright  eye  wept  as  the  sad  news  ran 


MATTERS  IN  ROCKLAKD.  159 

along  tlie  streets  that  Rockland's  young  lieutenant,  of 
whom  the  people  were  justly  proud,  lay  dead  in  Wash- 
ington, and  many  a  heart  beat  with  sympathy  for  the 
young  wife  who,  ever  since  hearing  the  fatal  news,  had 
lain  upon  her  bed,  more  dead  than  ahve,  with  a  look 
upon  her  white  face  which  told  better  than  words  of  the 
anguish  she  was  endui'ing. 

Nothing  could  induce  Rose  to  leave  her  for  a  moment. 
*'  Will  had  staid  by  George,"  she  said,  "  and  she  should 
stay  by  Annie." 

AVith  her  sitting  by,  Annie  grew^  stronger,  and  could 
at  last  talk  calmly  of  what  was  expected  on  the  morrow. 

"  It  will  be  terrible,"  she  said,  "  to  hear  the  tramp  of 
feet  coming  up  the  walk,  and  know  they  are  bringing 
George !  Oh,  IVlrs.  Mather,  you'll  stay  by  me,  won't 
you,  even  if  yoiu'  husband  is  among  the  number  ?" 

Annie  did  not  mean  to  be  selfish.  She  was  too  much 
benumbed  to  realize  anything  fully,  and  she  never 
thought  what  it  would  cost  Rose  to  stay  there,  knowing 
her  husband  would  seek  her  at  home,  and  be  so  disap- 
pointed at  not  finding  her  there.  Rose  could  not  refuse 
a  request  so  touchingly  made,  but  just  as  the  morning 
broke  she  went  home  for  a  few  moments  to  see  that  all 
necessary  preparations  were  made  for  Will's  comfort; 
then,  penning  him  a  note  to  tell  why  she  was  not  there 
to  meet  him,  she  returned  again  to  the  cottage,  where 
Widow  Simms  was  busily  at  work  setting  things  to  rights 
for  the  expected  arrival,  her  tears  falling  upon  the  fur- 
niture she  was  dusting,  and  her  chest  heaving  with  sobs 
as  she  heard  in  the  distance  the  sound  of  a  gathering 
crowd,  and  thought, 

"  It  may  be  my  boy  they'U  go  up  next  to  meet." 

Poor  Annie,  too,  shuddered  and  moaned  as  she  caught 
the  ominous  sounds,  and  knew  what  they  portended. 


160  ROSE    MATHER. 

*'  It  would  be  better  to  bring  him  back  quietly,"  she 
said.  "  It  seems  almost  like  mockery,  this  parade, 
which  he  can  never  know.  I  may  be  glad,  by  and  by, 
that  they  honored  him  thus,  but  it's  so  hard  now,"  and 
covering  her  head  with  her  piUow,  Annie  wept  silently  as 
she  heard  the  mournful  beat  of  the  muffled  drum,  and 
knew  the  march  to  the  depot  had  commenced. 

How  Hose  wanted  to  be  in  the  street  and  see  her 
husband  when  he  came;  but  with  heroic  self-denial,  she 
forced  down  every  longing  to  be  away,  and  sitting  down 
by  Annie,  busied  herself  with  counting  off  the  minutcs 
and  wondering  if  the  clock  would  ever  point  to  half-past 
ten,  or  the  train  ever  arrive. 

There  was  a  gi*eat  crowd  out  that  morning  to  meet  the 
retuining  soldier,  and  George's  dream  of  what  might  be 
when  he  came  back  again  was  more  than  realized. 
There  were  men  and  carriages  upon  the  street,  and 
groups  of  women  at  the  corners,  while  the  Httle  boys  ran 
up  and  down.  But  in  the  beat  of  the  muffled  drum  there 
was  a  tone  which  made  the  hearts  of  those  who  heard  it 
overflow  with  tears,  as  they  remembered  ichat  that  dirge- 
like music  meant.  Around  the  jammed  white  hat  of  the 
man  who  played  the  fife  there  was  a  badge  of  mourning, 
and  in  the  notes  he  trilled  a  mournful  cadence  far  differ- 
ent from  the  patriotic  strains  he  played  as  a  farewell  to 
Rockland  soldiers,  going  forth  to  battle,  with  hopes  so 
sangttine  of  success.  One  of  that  youthful  band  was 
coming  back;  not  full  of  life  and  fiery  ambition  as  when  he 
went  away,  dreaming  bright  dreams  of  the  glory  he  would 
win,  and  the  laurels  he  would  wear,  when  once  again  he 
trod  the  streets  at  home.  Not  as  a  conquering  hero, 
with  the  crown  of  fame  on  his  brow,  though  the  crown 
indeed  was  won,  and  where  the  golden  light  of  Heaven 
shines  from  the  everlasting  hills,  he  was  wearing  it  in 


MATTERS  IN  EOCKLAND.  161 

glory.  But  his  ear  was  deaf  to  all  earthly  sounds,  and 
the  tribute  of  respect  his  friends  fain  would  bestow  upon 
him,  awakened  no  thrill  in  his  cold,  pulseless  heart. 
Still  they  felt  that  all  honor  was  due  to  the  dead,  and  so 
they  had  come  up  to  meet  him,  a  greater  throng  than 
any  of  which  he  had  dreamed  when  ambition  burned 
within  his  bosom.  There  was  a  carriage  waiting,  too, 
just  as  he  hoped  there  might  be ;  a  carriage  sent  express- 
ly for  him,  but  the  children  on  the  sidewalk  shrank 
away  and  ceased  their  noisy  clamor  as  it  went  by,  its 
sombre  appearance  somewhat  reheved  by  the  gay  color- 
ing of  the  Stars  and  Stripes  laid  reverently  upon  it. 

Slowly  up  the  street  the  long  procession  passed,  un- 
mindful of  the  rain  which,  mingled  with  the  snow  and 
sleet,  beat  upon  the  pavements,  and  dashed  against  the 
window-panes,  from  which  many  a  tear-stained  face 
looked  out  upon  the  gloomy  scene,  made  ten  times 
gloomier  by  the  sighing  of  the  wmd  and  the  rifts  of 
leaden  clouds  veihng  the  November  sky.  Over  the  east- 
em  bills  there  was  a  rising  wreath  of  smoke,  and  a  shrill, 
discordant  scream  told  that  the  train  was  coming,  just 
as  the  carriage  sent  for  George  drew  up  to  its  appointed 

place. 

Gently,  carefully,  tenderly  they  lifted  him  out,  and  set 
him  dos^n  in  their  midst;  but  no  loud  cheering  rent  the 
air,  no  acclamations  of  applause,  nothing  save  that 
dreadful  muffled  beat,  and  the  soft  notes  of  the  fife,  tell- 
ing to  the  passengers  leaning  fi'om  the  windows  that  the 
de'ad,  as  weU  as  the  living,  had  been  their  fellow-trav- 
eller. The  banner  upon  the  hearse  told  the  rest  of  the 
sad  story,  and  wi^  a  sigh  to  the  memory  of  the  unknown 
soldier,  the  passengers  resumed  their  seats,  and  the  train 
sped  on  its  way,  leaving  the  Eockland  people  alone  with 
their  dead. 


162  ROSE   MATHER. 

Keverently  they  placed  him  in  the  carriage  Avhich  none 
cared  to  share  with  him.  Carefully  they  wrapped  around 
him  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  and  dropjDing  the  heavy  cur- 
tains, followed  through  the  streets  to  the  cottage  in  tbe 
Hollow,  which  he  had  left  so  full  of  life  and  hope. 
Around  that  cottage  there  was  a  gathered  multitude 
next  day,  and  though  on  the  unsheltered  heads  of  those 
without,  the  driving  rain  wasfalUng,  they  waited  patient- 
ly while  the  prayer  was  said,  and  the  funeral  anthem 
chanted.  Then  there  came  a  busthng  moment, — people 
passing  beneath  the  Star  Spangled  Banner,  and  pausing 
to  look  at  the  dead.  There  were  sobs  and  tears,  and 
words  of  fond  regret,  and  then  the  coffin-lid  was  closed, 
and  once  more  that  muffled  beat  was  heard,  as  with  arms 
reversed  the  Kockland  Guards  marched  up  the  walk, 
where,  leaning  upon  their  guns  they  stood,  while  strong 
men  carried  out  their  late  companion,  and  placed  him  in 
the  hearse,  the  carriage  sent  for  him.  There  was  no  rela- 
tive to  go  with  him  to  the  grave, — none  in  whose  veins 
his  blood  was  flowing,  so  IVIi'.  Mather  and  Rose  took  the 
lead,  followed  by  a  promiscuous  crowd  of  carriages  and 
pedestrians,  the  very  horses  keeping  time  to  the  solemn 
music  beaten  by  the  drum,  and  played  by  th,e  man  in  the 
jammed  white  hat. 

Slowly  through  the  November  rain, — through  the 
November  sleet,  and  through  the  November  mist  they 
bore  him  on  through  the  streets  which  he  so  oft  had 
trodden;  on  past  the  cottage  he  meant  to  buy  for  poor 
Annie,  whispering  to  herself  with  every  note  of  the  toll- 
ing bell,  "  George  has  gone  to  Heaven."  Onward,  still 
onward,  till  streets  and  cottage  were^left  behiud,  and 
they  came  to  where  the  marble  columns,  gleaming 
through  the  autumnal  fog,  told  who  peopled  that  si- 
lent yard.     Just  by  the  gate,  the   bearers  paused,  and 


MATTERS  IN  ROCKLAND.  163 

stood  with  uncovered  heads  while  the  solemn  words 
were  uttered,  "  Earth  to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to 
dust !"  Then,  when  it  was  all  over,  the  long  procession 
moved  through  the  spacious  churchyard,  past  the  tall 
monuments  betokening  worldly  wealth  ;  past  the  less 
imposing  stones,  whose  lettering  told  of  treasure  in 
Heaven;  past  the  group  of  cedar  trees  and  pine;  past  the 
graves  of  the  nameless  dead,  and  so  out  upon  the  highway, 
Rose  Mather  starting  in  alarm  as  the  band  struck  up  a 
quicker,  merrier  march,  whose  stirring,  jubilant  notes 
seemed  so  much  hke  mockery.  She  knew  it  was  the 
custom,  but  the  music  grated  none  the  less  harshly,  and 
drawing  her  veil  over  her  face,  she  wept  silently,  occa- 
sionally glancing  backward  to  the  spot  of  freshly  up- 
turned earth  where  Rockland's  first  soldier  was  buried, 

the  brave,  self-denying  George, — who  gave  all  he  had 

for  his  country,  and  died  in  her  behalf. 

Four  weeks  after  George's  death,  Annie  left  the  cot- 
tage in  the  Hollow,  and  went  to  hve  for  a  time  with  Mrs. 
Mather.  Early  orphaned,  and  thrown  upon  the  charities 
of  a  scheming  aunt,  who,  after  her  marriage  with  George, 
had  cast  her  off  entirely,  there  was  now  no  one  to  whom 
she  could  look  for  help  and  sympathy  save  Rose,  and 
when  the  latter  insisted  that  her  home  should  be  Annie's 
also,  while  William,  too,  joined  his  entreaties  with  those 
of  his  wife,  and  urged  as  one  reason  his  promise  made 
to  George,  Annie  consented  on  condition  that  as  soon  as 
her  health  was  sufficiently  restored,  she  should  do  some- 
thing for  herself,  either  as  teacher,  or  governess  in  some 
private  family. 

Amid  a  wild  storm  of  sobs  and  tears  she  had  read  her 
husband's  dying  ;message,  growing  sick  and  faint  just  as 
he  knew  she  would  when  fii'st  she  learned  of  his  loss, 
and  why  it  was  he  had  never  vsritten  to  her  himself.     But 


164  ROSE   MATHER 

this  was  naught  compared  to  the  horror  which  crept 
round  her  heart  as  she  read  what  George  had  written  of 
a  coming  time  when  the  long  grave  by  the  gate  would  not 
be  visited  as  often  as  at  first,  or  he  who  slept  there 
remembered  as  tearfully. 

"  Oh,  George,  George !"  she  cried,  "  it  was  cruel  to 
tell  me  so,"  and  sinking  to  her  knees,  she  essayed  to 
breathe  a  vow  that  other  love  than  that  she  had  borne 
for  George  Graham  should  never  find  entrance  to  her 
bosom.  But  something  sealed  her  lips, — the  words  she 
would  have  uttered  were  unspoken,  and  the  rash  vow 
was  not  made. 

Still  there  was  an  added  drop  to  her  already  brimming 
cup  of  sorrow,  and  a  sadder,  more  loving  note  in  the  tone 
of  her  voice  when  she  spoke  of  her  husband,  as  if  she  would 
fortify  herself  against  the  possibility  of  his  prediction  com- 
ing true.  It  was  a  sorry  day  when  she  finally^  left  her 
cottage  home,  and  only  God  was  witness  to  the  parting; 
but  the  dim,  swollen  eyes  and  colorless  cheeks  attested 
to  its  bitterness,  as,  with  one  great  uphea\dng  sob,  she 
crossed  the  threshold  and  entered  the  carriage  where 
Hose  sat  waiting  for  her,  while  the  motherly  Widow 
Simms  wrapped  around  her  the  pile  of  shawls  which 
were  to  shield  her  from  the  cold,  and  bade  her  god-speed 
to  her  new  home. 

Rapidly  the  carriage  drove  away,  while  the  widow  re- 
turned to  the  cottage  to  perform  the  last  needful  office  of 
fastening  down  the  windows  and  locking  up  the  doors, 
then,  with  a  sigh  at  the  changes  a  few  short  months  had 
wrought,  she  went  back  to  her  own  long  deserted  home. 
And  the  busy  tide  of  life  rolled  on  in  Rockland  just  the 
same  as  if  in  the  churchyard  there  was  no  new-made 
grave,  holding  the  buried  love  of  Annie,  who,  in  Rose 
Mather's  beautiful  home,   was   surrounded  with   every 


THE  DESEKTEE.  165 

possible  comfort  and  luxury,  and  treated  with  as  much 
consideration  as  if  she  were  a  bom  princess,  instead  of 
the  humble  woman,  who,  a  few  months  before,  was  wholly 
unknown  to  the  httle  lady  of  the  Mather  Mansion. 


CHAPTEE  XV. 

THE   DESEETEB. 


Jv^^  NOTHER  had  taken  George's  place  in  Company; 

>^^^  Rj  and  both  the  Widow  Simms  and  Susan 
^^i:;;^  Simms  shed  tears  of  natural  pride  when  they 
read  that  John  was  the  favored  one,  and  bore  the  title  of 
Lieutenant.  It  more  than  half  atoned  for  his  long  ab- 
sence to  the  yoimg  wife,  who,  greatly  to  her  mother-in- 
law's  disgust,  was  made  the  happy  possessor  of  a  set  of 
furs  bought  with  a  part  of  the  new  lieutenant's  in- 
creased wages. 

"Better  lay  by  for  a  wet  day;  but  easy  come,  easy 
go.  They  will  never  be  worth  a  cent.  Tain't  like  them 
Ruggleses  to  save,  and  to  think  of  the  silly  critter's 
comin'  round  in  the  storm  just  to  show  'em,  late  on 
Saturday  night;  I'm  glad  I  wan't  to  hum,"  was  the 
widow's  muttered  comment,  as  on  the  Sunday  following 
the  receipt  of  the  furs  she  pinned  around  her  high, 
square  shoulders,  the  Um  yeoi's'  old  blanket  shawl,  and 
t}dng  round  her  neck  the  faded  tippet  of  even  greater 
age,  started  for  church,  determining  not  to  notice  or 
speak  to  the  extravagant  Susan,  if  she  appeared,  as  she 
was  sure  to  do,  in  her  new  finery." 

This  was  hardly  the  right  kind  of  spirit  for  the  widow 


166  BOSE  MATHER. 

to  take  to  church,  but  hers  was  a  peculiar  nature,  and 
the  grace  which  would  have  sufficed  to  make  Annie  Gra- 
ham an  angel,  would  hardly  have  kept  her  from  boiling 
over  at  the  most  trivial  matter.  This  the  widow  felt, 
and  it  made  her  more  distrustful  of  herself,  more  careful 
to  keep  down  the  first  approaches  of  her  besetting  sin. 
But  the  furs  had  seriously  disturbed  her,  particularly  as 
they  were  said  to  have  cost  $35 — "  more  than  she  had 
spent  on  her  mortal  body  in  half-a-dozen  years,"  she 
thought,  as,  with  her  well-worn  Prayer  Book  in  hand, 
and  a  pair  of  Eh's  darned,  blue  socks  upon  her  feet  to 
keep  them  from  the  snow  which  had  fallen  the  night  be- 
fore, she  walked  rapidly  on  in  the  direction  of  St. 
Luke's. 

There  was  an  unusual  stir  about  the  doors,  a  crowd 
of  eagerly  talking  people,  and  conspicuous  among  them 
was  Susan,  looking  so  pretty  in  her  neatly  fitting  coUar, 
and  holding  her  httle  muff  so  gracefully  that  the  widow 
began  to  relent  at  once,  and  to  feel  a  kind  of  pride  that 
"  John's  wife  was  as  genteel  lookin'  as  the  next  one,  if 
she  did  come  of  them  shiftless  Euggleses,"  but  inasmuch 
as  it  was  Sunday,  she  shouldn't  flatter  Susan  by  speak- 
ing of  the  furs;  but  the  first  chance  she  got  on  a  week 
day  she'd  teU  her  "she  was  glad  she  got  *em,  if  they 
didn't  make  her  vain;  though  I  know  they  wiU,"  she 
added;  "  it's  Buggies  natur'  and  she's  standin'  out  there 
now,  just  to  show  'em  to  the  folks  in  the  street  goin'  to 
the  Methodis'  meetin'." 

But  the  widow  was  mistaken,  for  Susan  had  scarcely  a 
thought  of  her  furs,  so  absorbed  was  she  in  throwing 
what  httle  hght  she  could  upon  a  mystery  which  was 
troubling  the  people  and  keeping  them  outside  the  door, 
while  they  talked  the  matter  over.  It  seemed  that  the 
sexton,  when,  at  about  ten  o'clock  on  the  previous  night. 


THE  DESERTER.  167 

he  came  to  see  that  the  fire  kindled  in  the  furnace  at 
sunset  was  safe,  had  stumbled  over  a  human  form  lyiug 
upon  the  pile  of  evergreens  gathered  for  the  Christmas 
decorations,  and  placed  for  safe  keeping  in  the  cellar  of 
the  church.  There  was  a  cry  between  surprise  and  ter- 
ror, and  a  muttered  oath,  and  then  the  ragged,  fright- 
ened intruder  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  bounding  up  the 
narrow  stairway,  fled  through  the  open  vestry  door  ere 
the  sexton  had  time  to  collect  his  scattered  senses. 

This  was  his  story,  corroborated  by  Susan  Simms,  who 
said  that  when,  at  about  seven  o'clock  the  previous  night, 
she  was  passing  the  church,  she  saw  a  dark-looking  ob- 
ject, which  she  at  first  mistook  for  a  woman,  but  as  she 
came  nearer  she  saw  it  was  the  figure  of  a  man  who, 
at  the  sound  of  her  steps,  dropped  behind  a  pile  of  rub- 
bish, and  thus  disappeared  from  view, — ^that  feeling 
timid  she  did  not  return  home  that  way,  but  took  the 
more  circuitous  route  past  her  mofcher-in-law's,  where  she 
stopped  for  a  moment  and  repeated  the  circumstance  to 
the  neighbor  she  found  staying  there. 

"  Then  she  didn't  come  half  a  mile  out  of  the  way  just 
to  tell  of  her  finery,"  thought  the  widow,  coming  nearer 
to  Susan,  and  even  smoothing  the  soft  fur,  which,  half 
an  hour  before,  had  so  provoked  her  ire. 

Various  were  the  surmises  as  to  who  the  man  could 
be,  and  why  he  had  entered  the  lonesome  cellar;  and 
the  morning  services  had  commenced  ere  the  knot  of 
talkers  and  Hsteners  at  the  door  disbanded  and  took 
their  accustomed  places  in  the  church.  Eose  Mather 
was  there  as  usual,  but  she  knelt  in  her  handsome  pew 
alone,  for  Will  had  been  gone  from  her  two  whole  weeks, 
and  Annie  was  still  too  much  of  an  invahd  to  venture 
out.  With  others  at  the  door  she  heard  of  the  intruder, 
and  after  asking  a  few  questions  she  had  passed  into  the 


168  ROSE  MATHER 

aisle,  with  a  certain  wise  air  about  her,  as  if  she  knew 
something  which  she  should  not  tell !  As  one  after  an- 
other came  in,  it  might  have  been  observed  that  she 
turned  often  and  curiously  toward  the  door,  glancing 
occasionally  at  the  spot  where  Mrs.  Baker,  now  a  regular 
attendant,  was  in  the  habit  of  sitting.  She  was  not  there 
to-day,  a  fact  which  no  one  observed  save  Rose  and  the 
Widow  Simms,  the  latter  of  whom  only  noticed  it  because 
Annie,  she  knew,  was  deeply  interested  in  the  repentant 
woman.  "She's  sick,  most  likely,"  the  widow  thought, 
while  Rose,  too,  had  her  own  opinion  as  to  what  kept 
Harry's  mother  fi'om  church  that  Sunday  morning. 

Meantime  the  object  of  their  sohcitude  sat  crouching 
over  the  fire  of  wet  green  wood  she  had  succeed- 
ed in  coaxing  into  a  blaze,  now  looking  nervously 
toward  the  half  closed  door  of  the  small  room  her  boys 
used  to  occupy,  and  again  congratulating  herself  that  it 
was  Sunday,  and  consequently  no  one  would  be  coming 
there  to  pry  into  the  secret  she  was  guarding  as  care- 
fully as  ever  tigress  guarded  its  threatened  young.  The 
half  frozen,  famished  wretch,  fleeing  from  the  shadow  of 
the  church  out  into  the  wintr^^  storm  which  had  come 
up  since  nightfall,  had  gone  next  to  the  tumble-down 
shanty  of  a  house  which  ^Irs.  Baker  called  her  home. 
It  was  late  for  a  light  to  be  there,  for  Mrs.  Baker  kept 
early  hours;  but  through  the  driving  snow  the  wanderer, 
as  he  turned  the  comer,  caught  a  fi'iendly  gleam  shining 
out  from  the  dingy  windows,  and  waking  in  his  breast 
one  great  wild  throb  of  joy,  such  as  some  lost  mariner 
feels  when  he  spies  in  the  distance  the  friendly  bark  and 
knows  there's  help  at  hand. 

It  was  a  desolate,  di-eary  home,  but  to  the  wanderer 
hastening  toward  it,  and  glancing  so  timidly  around  as 


THE   DESERTER  IQg 

if  behind  ea^h  rift  of  snow  there  were  bristling  bayonets 

Coidd  he  gain    that  shelter  he  was  safe.     His  mother 
would  shield  him  from  the  dreaded  officers  he  fancied 

,Tnn  ^^  \'r:'''  "^^  '"•  '^^  ^^'='^'  ^^'^S  man  kept  on 
untJ  the  old  boaa-d  fence  was  reached,  where,  leaning 
against  the  gate,  he  stood  a  moment,  aiid  with  his  fever- 
ish hand  scooped  up  the  giateful  snow  to  cool  his  burn- 
mg  forehead.  The  taUow  candle  was  burning  yet  within 
the  cottage,  but  the  fii-e  was  raked  together  on  the  hearth 
and  the  stranger  could  see  the  glow  of  the  red  embers 
and  the  broken  shovel  lain  across  the  andiron 

"I  wonder  what  she's  doing  up  so  late,"  he  whispered, 
and  movmg  cautiously  up  the  walk  to  the  uncurtained 
window,  he  started  suddenly  at  the  novel  sight  wMch 
met  hia  view. 

Years  before,  when  he  Uved  in  New  England,  he  re- 
membered that  one  day  when  playing  in  the  garret  he 

tlh"  H  1  "l  ",  "^'?  °'  '"'^'"'^'  '  '''^''  ^l"''-  book, 
which  Hal  had  said   was    their  grandmother's   Bible, 
^terwai-d  he  had  seen  it  standing  against  a  broken  hght 
of  glass,  to  keep  out  the  snow  which  sometimes  beat  in 
upon  hmiself  and  Hal,  and  that  was  the  last  he  could  re- 
member concerning  that  Bible  or  any  other  belonging  to 
his  mother.     How  then  was  he  astonished  to  see  it  iLg 
on  the  old  round  stand,  the  dim  tallow  candle  casting  a 
flickering  hght  upon  the  yellow  leaves  and  upon  the  fig- 
ure of  his  mother  bending  over  them,  and  loudly  whis- 
pering the  words  she  was  reading.     It  was  not  an  en- 
i,"'!,     f"'^^''^^^^^  to   Mrs.  Baker,  the  reading  of  the 
Bible,  for  after  the  news  of  Haxry's  death  she  had  hunted 
up  the  long  neglected  volume  which  had  given  her  aged 
motier  so  much  comfort.     It  might  bring  consolation  to 
her,  she  thought,  and  so  with  tearful  eyes  and  aching 


ITO  ROSE  MATHER 

heart  she  had  tried  to  read  and  understand  the  sacred 
pages,  iDencil-marked,  some  of  them,  by  a  sainted  moth- 
er's hand,  and  fraught  with  so  many  memories  of  tho 
olden  time  when  she  was  not  the  hard,  wiinkled,  desolate 
creature  people  knew  as  Mrs.  Baker.  The  way  of  Ufa 
was  still  dark  and  dim  to  that  half  heathenish  woman, 
but  she  was  determinedly  groping  on,  following  the  little 
light  she  had,  and  each  night  found  her  bending  over 
the  Bible  ere  she  sought  the  humble  bed  standing  there 
in  the  dark  corner,  just  where  it  stood  that  morning  when 
her  two  boys  went  away. 

It  was  far  more  comfortable-looking  now  than  then, 
for  there  was  a  nice,  warm  blanket  on  it,  while  the  outer 
covering  was  clean  and  new.  Hose  Mather  had  kept  her 
promise  given  in  the  hour  of  the  ^poor  mother's  bereave- 
ment, and  scattered  about  the  room  were  numerous  arti- 
cles which  once  did  duty  in  the  servants'  apartments  at 
the  Mather  mansion.  But  the  intmder  did  not  notice 
these  ;  he  was  too  much  absorbed  with  the  stooping 
figure,  whispering  a  part  of  the  14th  chapter  of  John, 
and  occasionally  wiping  away  a  tear  as  she  came  to  some 
passage  more  beautiful  than  the  others.  There  were 
tears,  too,  in  the  eyes  of  the  rough  man  outside,  but  he 
forced  them  back,  and  pressing  closer  to  the  window, 
watched  the  lone  woman  inside,  as,  sinking  down  upon 
her  knees,  with  the  flickering  candle  shining  on  her 
wrinkled  face,  she  prayed  first  for  herself  and  then  for 
him,  the  hoy  standing  without  the  door,  and  hstening, 
while  his  heart  beat  so  loudly  that  he  almost  feared  she 
would  hear  and  know  that  he  was  there.  But  she  paid 
no  heed,  and  the  tremulous  voice  went  on,  asking  that 
God  would  follow  and  bless,  and  care  for  the  Billy  hoy 
far  away,  and  bring  him  back  to  the  mother  who  had 
never  been  to  him  what  she  ought.     The  name  Billy  boy 


THE  DESEETEE.  171 

touclied  a  tender  chord,  and   stretching   out  his  handa 
toward  her,  the  man  who  bore  that  name  sobbed  out, 

"  Oh,  mother,  mother,  I'm  here,  I'm  here  !" 

There  was  a  sudden  pause,  and  turning  her  head  the 
startled  woman  Hstened. 

Was  it  the  wind  moaning  round  her  lonesome  dwelling, 
or  was  it  poor  dead  Harry  calling  to  her,  as  in  her  su- 
perstitious imagination  she  sometimes  beHeved  he  did 
when  she  was  praying  for  Billy,  reproaching  her  that  no 
prayer  had  ever  been  said  for  him,  the  lost  one  ?  Again 
the  sobbing  cry,  and  a  rustling  movement  by  the  door. 
It  could  not  be  the  wind,  for  that  only  shook  the  loosen- 
ed timbers  or  screamed  through  some  gaping  crevice, 
while  this,  whatever  it  might  be,  called: 

"Mother,  mother,  come." 

Was  it  a  warning  from  the  other  world, — a  summons 
to  follow  her  first-born  ?  Annie  Graham  had  said  there 
were  no  such  messa  ges  sent  to  us,  and  Annie  was  always 
right;  so  the  frightened  woman  Hstened  again  until  the 
rattling  of  the  latch,  and -a  feeble,  timid  knock  told  her 
there  was  more  than  the  winter  wind  or  spirits  of  the 
dead  about  her  house  that  night.  There  was  a  human 
being  seeking  to  gain  entrance,  and  tottering  to  the  door 
she  asked  who  it  was,  and  what  they  wanted  there. 

"  Mother,  mother,  let  me  in.  I'm  your  Billy  boy,  come 
from  the  war." 

The  words  were  hardly  uttered  ere  the  door  was 
opened  wide,  the  frantic  woman  dragging  rather  than 
leading  in  the  worn-out  man,  who,  staggering  forward, 
feU  into  her  arms,  sobbing  piteously, 

"  I'm  so  sick  and  tired.  I've  been  weeks  on  the  road, 
hiding  everywhere;  for,  mother, — shut  the  door  tight,  so 
nobody  can  hear, — ^I've  run  away  ;  I've  had  enough  of 
war,  and  so  I  left  one  night.     You  know  what  they  do 


172  ROSE  MATHER. 

to  deserters.  They  hang  them,  neck  and  heels.  Oh, 
mother,  mother,  don't  let  them  find  me,  will  you  ?  I've 
done  my  best  in  one  dreadful  battle.  They  musn't  get 
me  now.  Will  they,  think  ?"  and  Billy  cast  a  searching 
glance  around  the  room  to  see  that  no  officer  was  there 
with  power  to  take  him  back. 

Would  they  get  him  from  her  ?  She'd  like  to  see  them 
do  it,  she  said,  as  she  led  the  childish  deserter  to  the 
hearth,  he  leaning  heavily  upon  her,  and  falling,  rather 
than  sitting  upon  the  chair  she  brought.  Weary  of  a 
soldier's  life,  and  satisfied  with  one  taste  of  battle,  he 
had  stolen  away  one  night  when  the  rain  and  the  dark- 
ness sheltered  him  frpm  observation.  Greatly  magnify- 
ing the  value  put  upon  himself,  as  well  as  the  chances 
for  detection,  he  had  not  dared  to  take  the  cars,  lest  at 
every  station  there  should-  be  one  of  the  police  waiting 
to  secure  him.  So  he  had  made  the  entire  journey  from 
Washington  on  foot,  travelling  by  night  and  resting  by 
day,  sometimes  in  bams,  but  oftener  in  the  woods, 
where  some  friendly  stump  or  leafless  tree  was  his  only 
shelter.  He  had  reached  his  home  at  last,  but  his  hag- 
gard face,  his  blood-shot  eyes,  his  blistered  feet  and  tat- 
tered gaiTaents  bore  witness  to  his  long,  painful  journey. 

With  streaming  eyes  the  mother  hstened  to  the  story, 
then  opening  the  bed  of  coals,  she  warmed  and  chafed 
his  half-fi'ozen  himbs,  handling  tenderly  the  poor,  blis- 
tered feet,  from  which  the  soles  of  the  shoes  had 
dropped,  leaving  them  exposed.  But  all  in  vain  did  she 
prepare  the  cup  of  fi-agrant  tea,  sent  her  that  afternoon 
by  Mrs.  Mather.  Billy  could  do  little  more  than  taste  it. 
He  was  too  tired,  he  said;  he  should  be  better  in  the 
morning,  after  he  had  slept.  So  with  eager,  trembling 
hands  his  mother  fixed  the  bed  in  the  httle  room  which 
had  not  been  used  since  he  went  away,  bringing  her  own 


THE  DESERTER.  173 

pillows,  and  the  nice  rose  blanket  given  by  Mrs.  Matlier, 
together  with  a  strip  of  carpet  which  she  spread  upon 
the  floor  so  as  to  make  it  soft  for  Billy's  wounded,  bleed- 
ing feet.  How  sick  he  was,  and  how  he  moaned  in  his 
fitful  sleep,  now  talking  of  Hdy  now  of  being  shot,  and 
again  of  the  Bible  on  the  stand,  and  the  prayer  he  heai"d 
his  mother  make. 

IMrs.  Baker  was  not  accustomed  to  sickness,  but  she 
knew  this  was  no  ordinary  case,  and  she  suggested  send- 
ing for  the  doctor;  but  Billy  started  up  in  such  dismay, 
telling  her  no  one  must  know  that  he  was  there  unless 
she  wanted  him  killed,  that  he  succeeded  in  communi- 
cating a  part  of  his  terror  to  her,  and  she  spent  the  en- 
tire Sunday  by  her  child's  bedside,  doing  what  she  could 
to  allay  the  ragiag  fever  increasing  so  fast,  and  keeping 
watch  to  see  that  no  one  came  near  to  drag  her  boy 
away. 

The  next  morning  it  became  absolutely  necessary  for 
her  to  leave  him  for  a  time,  as  she  must  procure  the  few 
necessaries  he  needed,  and  taking  advantage  of  the  heavy 
sleep  into  which  he  had  fallen,  she  stole  noiselessly  out, 
hoping  to  return  ere  he  should  wake.  Scarcely,  how- 
ever, had  she  left  the  lane  and  turned  into  Main  Street, 
when  Kose  came  tripping  to  the  gate,  drawn  thither  by 
a  curiosity  to  see  if  her  suspicions  were  correct.  She 
had  learned  from  her  husband  of  Bill's  exit  from  "Wash- 
ington, and  for  some  days  had  been  expecting  to  hear  of 
his  arrival  in  town.  That  he  had  come  she  was  certain, 
and  telling  Annie  where  she  was  going,  she  had  started 
rather  early  for  Mrs.  Baker's.  As  her  knock  met  with 
no  response  she  entered  without  further  ceremony,  and 
passing  on  through  the  low  dark  kitchen  came  to  the 
door  of  the  little  room  where  Bill  lay  breathing  heavily, 
and   muttering    about   camps,   and    guard-houses,    and 


174  BOSE  MATHER. 

deserters.  The  sight  of  suffering  always  awoke  a  chord 
of  sympathy  in  Rose  Mather's  bosom,  and  without  a 
thought  of  danger  she  bent  close  to  the  sick  man,  and 
involuntarily  laid  her  soft,  cool  hand  upon  his  burning 
forehead.  The  touch  awoke  him,  but  in.  the  wild  eyes 
turned  upon  her  there  was  no  glance  of  recognition,  oi 
look  of  fear.  He  eHddently  fancied  himseK  back  in 
Washington,  and  asked  the  name  of  her  regiment. 

"Oh,  I  know,"  he  continued,  still  keeping  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  her,  "you're  the  chap  I  took,  but  you've  fell 
away  mightily  since  then.  Yankee  fare  don't  set  well  on 
your  Rebel  stomach,  I  guess,"  and  a  wild,  coarse  laugh 
rang  through  the  room,  making  Rose  shudder  and  di'aw 
back,  for  she  felt  intuitively  that  Billy  was  mad. 

She  was  not,  however,  afraid  of  him,  and  standing  at 
a  little  distance,  she  tried  to  reason  with  him,  telHng 
him  she  was  not  a  Rebel, — she  was  Mrs.  Mather,  come 
to  do  him  good. 

BUI  only  laughed  derisively.  "  Couldn't  -cheat  him. 
Guess  he  knew  them  eyes  and  them  hands,  white  as  cot- 
ton wool.  I'll  bet  I've  got  a  ring  that'll  fit  'em,"  he  con- 
tinued, and  reaching  for  his  pantaloons,  which  he  had 
insisted  should  lie  behind  him  on  the  bed,  he  took  from 
the  pocket  the  costly  diamond  once  worn  by  his  Rebel 
captive,  and  confisticated  by  him  as  con-tra-hand.  "  Try  it 
on,"  he  said  to  Rose,  who  mechanically  obeyed,  wonder- 
ing why  it  should  look  so  familiar  to  her. 

It  was  too  large  for  her  slender  fingers,  and  dropping 
off,  rolled  upon  the  floor.  Rose  at  once  set  herself  to 
finding  the  missing  ring,  and  had  just  returned  it  to  its 
owner  when  ]\Ii's.  Baker  came  in,  teiTibly  alarmed  at 
finding  jMrs.  Mather  there.  Rose,  however,  quieted  her 
feai's  at  once  by  telhng  her  she  had  known  for  some 
days  past  of  BiU's  desertion,  and  had  kept  it  from  every 


THE  DESERTER.  175 

one  but  Annie,  because  her  husband  thought  it  best. 
She  did  not  believe  he  would  be  followed,  she  said,  for 
Wni  wrote  that  he  had  become  so  reckless  and  discon- 
tented that  his  absence  was  no  loss  to  the  army,  but  for 
a  while  it  might  be  well  that  his  presence  should  not  be 
known  in  Rockland,  as  the  people  might  be  indignant  at 
a  deserter,  and  perhaps  in  their  excitement  do  him  some 
injury. 

"He  ought  to  have  medical  advice,  though,"  she 
added,  "  for  I  think  he's  very  sick." 

Mrs.  Baker  knew  he  was,  and  fear  lest  he  should  die 
overcame  every  other  feehng,  making  her  consent  that 
Bose  should  call  their  family  physician.  It  was  nearly 
noon  ere  he  arrived,  and  in  the  meantime  Rose  had 
reported  the  case  to  Annie,  and  then  returning  to  Mrs. 
Baker's,  took  her  place  by  Billy,  who  called  her  "  his 
little  Rebel,"  and  ordered  her  about  as  if  he  had  been  a 
commanding  officer,  and  she  his  subordinate.  The 
novelty  of  the  thing  was  rather  pleasing  to  Rose,  and  not- 
withstanding that  the  physician  pronounced  the  disease 
typhus  fever  in  its  most  violent  form,  she  persisted  in 
staying,  saying  some  one  must  help  Mrs.  Baker,  and  she 
was  not  afraid. 

So  day  after  day  found  her  in  that  comfortless  dwell- 
ing, while  the  fi'equent  callers  at  the  Mather  mansion 
wondered  where  she  could  be.  It  came  out  at  last  that 
she  was  nursing  William  Baker,  lying  dangerously  sick 
of  typhus  fever  in  his  mother's  dilapidated  home,  and 
then,  as  villagers  will,  the  Rockland  people  wondered 
and  gossiped,  and  wondered  again  how  the  aristocl-atic 
Rose  Mather  could  sit  hour  after  hour,  in  that  poverty- 
stricken  cottage,  ministering  to  the  wants  of  despised 
Bill  Baker.  Rose  hardly  knew,  herself,  and  when  ques- 
tioned upo  n  the  subject  could  only  reply — 


176  ROSE  MATHER. 

"I  guess  it*s  because  he's  a  soldier,  and  I  must  do 
somethiiig  for  the  war.  Will  knows  it.  He  says  I'm 
doing  right,  and  Annie  Graham,  too." 

And  so,  with  her  heart  kept  brave  by  thinking  that 
Will  and  Annie  approved  her  course,  Kose  went  everj 
day  to  IVIi's.  Baker's,  doing  more  by  her  cheerful  presence 
and  the  needful  comforts  she  suppUed  to  arrest  the  pro- 
gi*ess  of  the  disease  and  effect  a  favorable  change,  than 
all  the  physicians  in  the  county  could  have  done.  Bill 
owed  his  hfe  to  her,  and  it  was  touching  to  witness  his 
childish  gratitude  when  reason  resumed  her  throne,  and 
he  learned  who  it  was  he  had  sometimes  called  his  "  lit- 
tle Rebel,"  and  again  had  fancied  was  some  beautiful 
angel  sent  to  cure  and  comfort  him.  He  had  often  seen 
IMrs.  Mather  in  the  streets  before  he  went  away;  but 
never  as  closely  as  now,  and  for  hours  after  his  conval- 
escence he  would  lie  looking  into  her  face,  which  seemed 
to  puzzle  him  greatly.  Occasionally,  too,  he  would  take 
fi'om  his  pocket  a  picture,  which  he  evidently  compared 
with  something  about  her  person,  then,  with  a  sly  wink, 
which  began  to  be  very  annoying,  he  would  return  it  to 
its  hiding-place,  and  ask  her  sundry  questions,  which, 
under  ordinary  circumstances,  she  would  have  resented 
as  being  too  familiar. 

At  last,  one  afternoon,  as  she  was  sitting  by  him,  while 
his  mother  did  some  errands  in  the  village,  he  suddenly 
surprised  her  by  di'opping  upon  her  lap  an  elegant  gold 
watch,  which  Rose  knew  at  a  glance  must  have  belonged 
to  some  person  of  taste  and  wealth. 

"What  is  it?  Whose  is  it?"  she  asked,  and  Bill  re- 
plied: 

"  'Twas  his'n,  the  chap's  I  took,  you  know.  He's  down 
to  the  old  Capitol  now,  shet  up.  Didn't  you  never  heai 
of  him  ?" 


THE   DESERTER  177 

"  Yon  mean  the  young  man  you  captured,"  Rose  re- 
plied. "  Tell  me  about  him,  please.  'VMio  was  he,  and 
where  was  his  home  ?" 

,  "  You  tell,"  Bill  answered,  with  one  of  his  pecuHar 
winks.  "He  gave  it  as  John  Brown;  but  a  chap  who 
knowd  him  said  'twas  somethin'  else.  He  wan't  a  Rebel 
neither — that  is,  it  wan't  his  nater,  for  he  came  from 
Yankee  land." 

"  A  traitor,  then,"  Rose  suggested,  aiid  BlQ  replied: 

"  You  needn't  guess  agin;  and  you  and  I  or'to  be  glad 
that  no  such  Iruck  belongs  to  us." 

Rose  colored  scarlet,  but  made  no  response,  for  re- 
creant Jimmie  flashed  across  her  mind,  and  she  shrank 
from  having  even  the  vulgar  Bill  know  how  intimately 
she  was  connected  with  a  traitor.  Bill  watched  her  nar- 
rowly, and  thinking  to  himself, 

"  I'm  on  the  right  track,  I'll  bet,"  he  continued,  "  I 
hain't  no  relations  in  the  Confederate  army,  I  know,  and 
I  don't  an  atom  b'lieve  you  have." 

No  answer  from  Rose,  except  a  heightened  bloom  upon 
her  cheek,  and  her  inquisitor  went  on  : 

"  Have  you  any  friends  there  ?" 

Rose  could  not  tell  a  He,  and  after  a  moment's  silence, 
she  stammered  out: 

"  Please  don't  ask  me.  Oh,  Jimmie,  Jimmie,  I  wish  I 
knew  where  he  was!"  and  the  great  tears  trickled 
through  the  snowy  fingers  clasped  over  her  flushed  face. 

"  I'll  be  darned  if  I  aint  crjin.'  too,"  Bill  said,  wiping 
his  eyes  with  his  shirt  sleeve,  "  but  bein'  I'm  in  for  it  I 
may  as  well  see  it  through." 

""VMiat  might  be  your  name  before  it  was  Miss 
Marthers?" 

"  Carleton  !"  and  Rose  looked  up  quickly  at  Bill,  who 
continued: 


178  ROSE  MATHEI^ 

"  Yon  came  from  Boston,  I  b'lieve  ?" 

"  Yes,  from  Boston,"  and  Rose  leaned  eagerly  forward, 
while  Bill,  with  his  favorite  "  Nuff  said,"  plunged  his  hand 
into  his  pocket,  and  taking  out  the  picture,  passed  it  to 
Rose. 

Quick  as  thought  the  bright  color  faded  from  her  cheek, 
and  with  ashen,  quivering  lips,  she  whispered; 

"  It's  I!  It's  mine,  taken  for  Jimmie,  just  before  he 
went  away  !  How  came  you  by  it  ?  Oh  tell  me  !"  and  in 
the  voice  there  was  a  tone  of  increasing  anguish.  *'  Tell 
me,  was  it, — was  it, — Jimmie,  my  brother,  whom  you  took 
prisoner  and  carried  to  Washington  ?" 

"  If  James  Carleton  is  your  brother,  I  s'pose  it  was," 
Bill  said;  "  and  that's  the  very  picter  he  stuck  to  hke  a 
chestnut  burr,  begging  for  it  like  a  dog,  and  offerin'  ev- 
erything he  had  if  I'd  give  it  up." 

"  Why  didn't  you,  then  ?"  and  Rose's  eye  blazed  with 
anger,  making  BiU  shrink  before  their  indignant  gaze. 

"  'Twas  rotten  mean  in  me,  I  know,"  he  said  timidly, 
"  but  they  was  con-tra-band  according  to  law,  and  I  felt 
so  savage  at  the  pesky  Rebels  then.  I  didn't  know 
'twas  you  he  teased  so  for,  actually  cryin'  when  I 
wouldn't  give  it  up.  I'm  sorry,  I  be,  I  swan,  and  I'll 
give  you  every  confounded  contraband.  You've  got  the 
watch,  and  there's  the  ring,  the  spetacles,  the  tobarker 
box,  and  the  thingumbob  for  cigars,  the  sum  total  of  his 
traps,  except  a  chaw  or  so  of  the  weed  that  I  couldn't 
very  well  bring  back,"  and  Bill's  face  wore  a  very  satisfied 
expression  as  he  laid  in  Rose's  lap  every  article  belonging 
to  her  brother. 

She  knew  now  who  the  prisoner  was  in  whom  she  had 
felt  so  strange  an  interest.  It  was  Jimmie,  and  the  mys- 
tery concerning  his  fate  was  solved.  He  was  a  captive  at 
Washington,  and  her  heart  ached  to  its  very  core  as  she 


NEWS  DIRECT  FROM  JIMMIE.  179 

thouglit  of  both  her  brothers  languishing  so  many 
weary  months  in  prison.  Very  minutely  she  questioned 
Bill,  eUcting  from  him  little  or  nothing  concerning 
Jimmie's  present  condition.  He  only  knew  that  he  was 
a  captive  still,  that  he  was  represented  as  maintaining 
the  utmost  reserve,  seldom  speaking  except  to  answer  di- 
rect questions,  and  that  he  seemed  very  unhappy. 

"Poor  boy,  he  wants  to  come  home,  I  know,"  and 
Eose  sobbed  aloud,  as  she  thought  how  desolate  and 
homesick  he  must  be.  "  I  can't  stay  any  longer  to-day," 
she  said,  as  she  heard  ]\Irs.  Baker  at  the  door,  and  bid- 
ding Bill  good-bye,  she  hurried  home,  where,  after  a  long 
passionate  flood  of  tears,  wept  in  Annie's  lap,  she  wi'ote 
to  her  mother  and  husband  both,  telling  them  where 
Jimmie  was,  and  begging  of  the  former  to  come  at  once 
and  go  with  her  to  Washington. 


CHAPTEE  XVI. 

NEWS     DIRECT     FROM     JIMMIE. 

m 

(hat  night,  as  Eose  sat  alone  in  her  cheerful 
boudoir,  musing  upon  the  strange  events  which 
had  occurred  within  the  last  few  months,  a  letter 
was  brought  to  her,  bearing  her  mother's  handwriting. 
It  had  passed  hers  on  the  road,  and  Eose  tore  it  open, 
starting,  as  a  soiled,  tear-stained  note  dropped  from  the 
inside  upon  the  floor.  Intuitively  she  felt  that  it  was 
from  Jimmie,  and  catching  it  up,  she  read  the  home-sick, 
heart-sick,  remorseful  cry  of  penitence  and  contrition 
which  the  weary  Eebel-boyhad  at  last  sent  to  his  mother. 


«^ 


180  ROSE  MATHER. 

Stubbomess  and  proud  reserve  could  hold  out  no  longer, 
and  lie  had  written,  confessing  his  eiTor,  and  begging 
earnestly  for  the  forgiveness  he  knew  he  did  not  deserve. 

♦*I  am  not  all  bad,"  he  said;  "and  on  that  quiet  morning,  when 
beneath  the  cover  of  the  Virginia  woods  I  lay,  watching  the  Union 
soldiers  coming  so  bravely  on,  there  was  a  dizziness  in  my  brain,  and 
a  strange,  womanly  feeling  at  my  heart,  while  a  sensation  I  cannot 
describe  thrilled  every  nerve  when  I  saw  in  the  distance  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  waving  in  the  summer  wind.  How  I  wanted  to  warn  them  of 
their  danger,  to  bid  them  turn  back  from  the  snare  so  cunningly  de 
vised,  and  how  proud  I  felt  of  the  Federal  soldiers  when  contrasting 
them  with  ours.  I  fancied  I  could  tell  which  were  the  Boston  boys, 
and  there  came  a  mist  before  my  eyes,  as  I  thought  how  your  dear 
hands  and  those  of  little  Rose  had  possibly  helped  to  make  some  por- 
tion of  the  dress  they  wore. 

"You  know  about  the  battle.  You  read  it  months  ago,  and  wept, 
perhaps,  as  you  thought  of  Jimmie  firing  at  his  own  brother,  it  might 
be,  but,  mother,  I  did  not.  I  scarcely  fired  at  all,  and  when  I  was 
compelled  to  do  so  to  avoid  suspicion,  it  was  so  high  that  neither 
the  wounded  nor  the  dead  can  accuse  me  as  their  murderer;  and  I'm 
glad  now  that  it  is  so.  It  makes  my  prison  bed  softer  to  know  there 
is  no  stain  of  blood  upon  my  soul. 

"Poor  Tom,  I  dare  say,  has  written  to  you  of  our  encounter 
in  the  woods,  but  he  does  not  know  the  shock  it  was  to  me  to 
meet  him  there,  and  know  I  could  not  help  him.  Dear  Tom,  my 
eart  aches  more  for  him  than  for  myself,  for  the  Richmond  Prison 
Guards  are  not  like  those  who  keep  watch  over  us.  There  are  hu- 
mane people  there, — kind,  tender  hearts. — which  feel  for  any  one  in 
distress,  but  the  jailers,  the  common  soldiers,  and  the  rabble,  are 
not,  I  fear,  as  considerate  as  they  might  be.  Many  of  them  have 
been  made  to  believe  the  war  entirely  of  the  North's  provoking,  that 
Hamlin  is  a  mulatto,  and  Lincoln  a  foul-hearted  knave,  whose  whole 
aim  is  to  set  the  negroes  free.  But  enough  of  Southern  politics.  It 
will  all  come  clear  at  last,  and  the  Star-Spangled  Banner  wave 
again  over  every  revolted  State. 

"Write  to  me,  mother.  Say  you  forgive  your  Rebel-boy.  Say 
tnat,  when  I  am  exchanged,  as  I  hope  to  be,  I  may  come  home,  and 
that  you  will  not  turn  away  from  your  sinful,  erring 

"  JnEMIE." 


NEWS  DIRECT  FROM  JIMMIE.  181 

There  was  a  message  of  love  for  Rose,  and  then  the 
letter  closed  with  one  last,  touching  entreaty  that  the 
mother  would  forgive  her  child  and  take  him  back  again 
to  her  confidence  and  love. 

"  Of  course  she'll  do  it,"  Rose  said,  vehemently,  and 
seizing  a  pen  and  paper  she  wrote  to  "Will,  inclosing  a 
note  to  Jimmie,  full  of  pardon  and  tender  love,  bidding 
him  when  he  should  be  released  come  directly  to  Rock- 
land, where  their  mother  should  be  waiting  for  him,  and 
where  she,  forgetting  all  the  past,  would  nurse  him  back 
to  health. 

Nearly  a  week  went  by,  and  then  there  came  a  letter 
from  Will,  telling  how  he  had  visited  the  Rebel  Jimmie  in 
his  prison,  and  Rose  wept  frantically  as  she  read  the  par- 
ticulars of  that  interview  when  her  brother  first  met  the 
sister's  husband,  of  whom  he  had  never  heard. 

*' I  found  Tn'm  sitting  apart  from  the  others,"  William  wrote,  "ap- 
parently absorbed  in  disagreeable  reflections,  for  there  was  an  ab- 
stracted look  upon  his  face  and  deep  wrinkles  upon  his  forehead.  If 
he  had  not  been  pointed  out  to  me,  I  should  have  known  him  by  his 
striking  resemblance  to  your  family.  The  Carleton  features  could 
not  be  mista^n,  particularly  the  proud  curve  about  the  mouth,  and 
the  arching  of  the  eyebrows,  while  I  recognized  at  once  the  soft, 
curling  hair  and  brilliant  complexion,  which  you  will  remember  once 
attracted  me  toward  a  certain  little  girl,  who  is  now  all  the  world  to 
the  old  bachelor  Will. 

"  But  this  isn't  a  love  letter,  darling.  I'm  only  going  to  tell  you 
how  sorry  your  brother  looked  sitting  there  alone  in  that  noisy  multi- 
tude, whose  language  and  manners  are  not  the  most  refined  that 
could  be  desired,  and  how  my  heart  warmed  toward  the  solitary  be- 
ing, and  forgave  him  at  once  for  all  his  errors  past.  Very  haughtily 
he  bowed  to  me  when  I  was  introduced,  and  then  in  silence  awaited 
to  hear  my  errand,  the  proud  curve  around  his  mouth  deepening  as 
he  surveyed  me  with  a  hauteur  which,  under  ordinary  circumstances, 
would  have  annoyed  me  exceedingly.  As  it  was,  I  could  almost  fan- 
cy myself  the  prisoner  and  he  the  freeman,  he  seemed  so  cool,  so 
collected,  while  I  was  embarrassed  and  uncertain  how  to  act. 


182  ROSE   MATHER 

*'  *Is  your  visit  prompted  by  curiosity  to  seeh6w  a  so-called  Eebel 
can  bear  confinement,  or  did  you  come  on  business  ?'  be  asJied,  and 
then  all  my  embarrassment  was  at  an  end. 

•  •  '  I  came, '  I  said,  •  partly  at  your  sister's  request,  and  partly  to  as- 
certain how  much  you  are  willing  to  do  toward  the  attainment  of 
your  freedom.' 

♦'  I  do  not  think  he  understood  the  last.     He  only  caught  at  the 
words,  'your  sister,'  and  grasping  my  arm,  he  whispered  hoarsely, 
♦  What  of  my  sister  ?    Have  you  seen  her?    Do  you  know  her,  and^ 
does  she  hate  me  now  ?' 

**I  told  him  I  was  your  husband,  and  with  quivering  lip,  he 
asked  me,  'Is  she  weU,  my  precious  little  Rose,  whom  I  remember  as 
almost  a  child,  and  mother — has  she  cast  me  off?  Oh,  if  she  only 
knew  how  I  am  punished  for  my  sin,  she  would  forgive  her  wayward 
boy.' 

' '  Here  he  broke  down  in  such  a  wild  storm  of  sobs  and  tears,  that 
the  inmates  of  the  prison  gathered  in  groups  around  him,  their  looks 
indicative  of  their  surprise  at  vdtnessing  so  much  emotion  in  one  who  up 
to  that  moment  had  appeared  haughtily  indifferent  to  everything 
around  him.  With  an  authoritative  gesture  he  waved  them  off, 
and  then,  passing  him  your  note,  1,  too,  walked  away,  leaving  him 
alone  wMle  he  read  it,  but  even  where  I  stood  I  could  hear  the 
smothered  sobs  he  tried  in  vain  to  suppress.  I  am  inclined  to  think 
he  is  right  in  saj-ing  that  joining  the  Confederate  army  was  t^e 
best  lesson  he  ever  learned.  I  am  sure  he  must  be  greatly  changed 
from  the  reckless,  daring  boy,  whose  exploits  you  have  described  so 
often.  He  is  very  anxious  to  swear  allegiance  to  the  Stars  and 
Stripes,  even  though  he  should  be  doomed  to  prison  life  for  five 
more  weary  months,  and  as  I  am  not  a  mere  private  now,  and  have 
considerable  influence  in  Washington,  I  hope,  ere  long,  to  write  that 
"he  is  free,  and  on  his  way  to  Rockland,  whither  he  will  go  first. 

Jimraie  expresses  the  utmost  sympathy  for  Tom.  and  says  he  would 
gladly  take  his  place,  if  that  could  be,  for  he  fears  the  inmates  of 
those  Richmond  tobacco  houses  are  not  always  cared  for,  as  he  has 
been  at  Washington.  Poor  Tom,  I  hope  he  will  be  among  the  list 
of  the  exchanged,  and  if  so,  you  may  expect  soon  to  welcome  both 
your  brothers.' 

No  wonder  Rose  wept  tears  of  joy  over  his  letter, 
while  her  thoughts  went  after  her  rebellious,  but  repent- 


NEWS  DIEECT  FEOM  JIMMIE.  ISfS 

ant  brother,  nor  tarried  there,  for,  farther  to  the  South, 
another  weary  captive  pined,  and  every  fibre  of  her  heart 
bleed  with  sympathy  for  Tom — ^poor  Tom,  she  always 
3alled  him — and  as  the  days  of  sickening  suspense  went 
by  she  grew  so  nervous  and  so  ill  that  her  mother  came 
up  from  Boston  to  attend  her,  while  Annie  shook  off  her 
own  feelings  of  weary  languor,  and  did  for  Kose  the  same 
offices  which  Eose  had  once  done  for  her. 

"I  do  so  wish  you  had  been  my  sister,"  Rose  said 
to  her  one  day,  when  she  had  been  kinder  than  usual. 
"  I  know  I  should  be  a  better  woman,  and  so  would  all  of 
us." 

Annie  made  no  reply,  except  to  twine  around  her  fin- 
gers the  coils  of  chestnut  hair,  lying  in  such  profusion 
upon  the  pillows.  For  a  few  moments  Rose  lay  perfectly 
still,  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  paper  bordering,  as  if 
counting  the  fanciful  flowers,  but  her  thoughts  were  in- 
tent upon  a  far  different  subject.  Turning  to  her  moth- 
er, she  suddenly  asked: 

*'  How  old  is  Jimmie,  twenty-three,  or  twenty-four  ?" 

"Twenty-three  last  May,"  was  the  reply,  and,  with 
rather  a  troubled  expression  upon  her  face.  Rose  contin- 
ued, "  Will  is  thirteen  years  older  than  I  am,"  and  the  ht- 
tle  curly  head  shook  doubtfully. 

'-  What  are  you  talking  about  ?"  Mrs.  Carleton  asked, 
but  Rose  did  not  answer  at  once. 

There  was  another  interval  of  silence,  and  then  start- 
ing quickly.  Rose  called  out,  "  Mother,  don't  you  remem- 
ber that  affair  of  Jimmie's  ever  so  long  ago,  when  he  was 
a  boy  at  school  in  New  London?"  There  was  a  little 
girl  that  he  fancied,  and  you  took  him  home  for  fear  of 
what  would  come  of  it;  when  you  found  she  was  poor  and 
nobody?" 

Glancing  quickly  at  Annie,  who  was  attentively  exam- 


184  ROSE  MATHER 

ining  the  liera-stitch  of  the  fine  linen  pillow-case,  Mra 
Carleton  said,  reprovingly: 

"You  should  not  parade  our  family  matters  before 
strangers,  my  daughter." 

"  Oh,  Annie  is  no  stranger,"  Rose  answered,  laugh- 
ingly. "  She's  one  of  our  folks  now,  besides,  she  is  not 
enough  interested  in  the  love  affair  of  a  seventeen  years 
old  boy  ever  to  repeat  it." 

"Love  affair!"  Mrs.  Carleton  rejoined,  a  little  scorn- 
fully. "Not  very  much  love  about  it,  I  imagine.  She 
was  stopping  with  her  aunt  at  the  Pequot  House,  and 
Jimmie  saw  her  a  few  times,  passing  himself  off  by  an- 
other name  than  his  own.  If  he  had  cared  for  this 
child  he  would  never  have  done  that." 

"  He  seems  to  have  a  penchant  for  assuming  names," 
Rose  rejoined,  playfully.  "He  called  himself  John 
Brown,  at  Washington,  while  to  this  little  Pequot  girl  he 
was,  let  me  see,  what  was  it  ?     Can't  you  think,  mother  ?" 

Rose  was  bent  on  talking  about  Jimmie  and  his  Pe- 
quot girl,  and  knowing  that  she  could  not  stop  her,  Mrs. 
Carleton  replied: 

"  Richard  Lee,  or  something  like  that." 

"  Oh,  yes,  '  Dick  !'  I  remember  now  ;  and  her  name 
was, — what  was  it,  mother  ?  It  makes  my  head  ache  so 
trying  to  recall  it." 

"  If  I  ever  knew,  I've  forgotten,"  Mrs.  Carleton  said, 
and  after  trying  in  vain  to  think.  Rose  dismissed  the 
name,  but  not  the  subject. 

"How  angry  Jimmie  was,"  she  continued,  "when  you 
brought  him  home,  and  how  awfully  he  swore.  It  makes 
you  shudder,  don't  it  ?"  and  she  turned  to  Annie,  who 
had  shivered  either  with  cold  or  horror  at  Jimmie's  pro- 
fanity. "  He  was  a  bad  boy  once,  but  I  most  know  he's 
better  now.     Maybe,  mother,  this  was  a  real  nice  girl, 


KEWS  DIRECT  FROM  JTMMIE.  185 

and  if  you'd  let  Jimmie  alone  he  might  have  become  at- 
tached to  her,  and  she  have  been  his  wife  by  this  time. 
Then  he  would  not  have  joined  the  Rebel  army.  Don't 
you  think  you  and  Tom  were  a  Httle  too  severe  on  Jim- 
mie sometimes?" 

"  Perhaps  so,"  was  the  faint  response,  as  Mrs.  Carle- 
ton  looked  out  upon  the  wintry  landscape,  seeing  there 
visions  of  a  handsome,  boyish,  tearful  face,  flushed  with 
anger  and  entreaty  as  its  owner  begged  of  her  not  to 
take  him  back  to  Boston,  which  he  Jiated,  but  leave  him 
where  he  was,  saying  that  the  little  girl  at  the  Pequot 
House  had  already  done  him  more  good  than  all  the 
sermons  preached  from  the  pulpits  of  the  Bay  State 
Capital. 

But  she  had  disregarded  Jimmie's  wishes,  and  from 
that  time  forward  he  had  pursued  a  course  of  reckless- 
ness ending  at  last  in  prison.  With  a  half-regretful  sigh 
Mrs.  Carleton  thought  of  all  this,  and  in  her  heart  she 
blamed  herself  for  some  of  her  boy's  disobedience.  But 
it  could  not  now  be  helped,  and  with  another  sigh,  she 
turned  toward  Rose,  still  speculating  as  to  what  the  re- 
sult might  have  been,  had  Jimmie  been  suffered  to  follow 
up  his  first,  and  so  far  as  she  knew,  only  fancy. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  would  have  happened  if  Jim- 
mie had  staid  in  New  London,  and  this  scheming  aunt, 
whom  mother  feared  far  more  than  the  Pequot,  had  staid 
there  too  ?"  she  asked  of  Annie,  forgetting  that  the  parti- 
culars of  the  affair  had  not  been  repeated. 

But  it  did  not  matter,  for  Annie  answered  all  the 
same.  She  was  sitting  now  with  her  back  to  ^Irs.  Carle- 
ton,  while,  so  far  as  Rose  was  concerned,  her  face  was  in 
the  shadow.  Consequently  Rose  could  not  see  its  ex- 
pression, as  she  replied: 

"  Nothing  probably  would  have  come  of  it.     I  ipaagine 


186  ROSE  MATHER. 

the  Fequot,  as  you  call  her,  was  not  more  than  fourteen, 
and  you  know  how  easily  we  forget  the  fancies  of  that 
age.  She  was  undoubtedly  pleased  with  the  evident  ad- 
miration of  your  handsome  brother,  and  watched  anx- 
iously, it  may  be,  for  the  evenings  when,  with  others  of 
his  comrades,  he  came  to  the  hotel;  but  a  closer  acquaint- 
ance would  have  resulted  in  her  knowing  the  deception 
about  the  name,  and  after  that  she  would  not  have  cared 
for  him.  If  he  really  hked  her  he  would  not  have  im- 
posed upon  her  thus.  She's  forgotten  hun  ere  this,  and 
is  probably  a  married  woman." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  Rose  rephed;  "I  wish  I  knew.  Jimmie 
didn't  mean  to  deceive  her  long.  He  took  the  name 
Dick  Lee,  partly  in  sport,  and  partly  because  he  didn't 
wish  his  teacher  to  know  how  often  Jim  Carleton  was  at 
the  Pequot  House,  when  he  thought  him  somewhere  else. 
After  he  began  to  like  her,  and  saw  how  pure  and  good 
and  truthful  she  was,  he  hated  to  tell  her,  but  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  do  so  when  mother  took  him  away." 

"  He  might  have  written,"  Annie  said,  "  and  she  may 
have  been  silly  enough  to  cry  over  his  abrupt  and  unex- 
plained departure." 

"  Mother  wouldn't  let  him  write,"  Rose  rejoined,  laugh- 
ingly. "She  watched  him  closely,  and  got  Tom  inter- 
ested too.  Poor  Jimmie,  I  wonder  if  that  girl  ever 
thinks  of  him  now  ?" 

"  She  may,  but  I  dare  say  she  is  glad  your  mother 
took  him  home.  She  has  outHved  all  that  fancy,"  and 
Annie's  white  fingers,  on  one  of  which  the  wedding-riQg 
was  shining,  worked  nervously  together. 

As  if  bent  on  tormenting  both  her  auditors  by  talking 
of  Jimmie,  Rose  kept  on,  wondering  how  he  looked,  if 
she  should  know  him,  what  he  would  say,  how  he  would 
act,  and  if  he  ever  would  come. 


NEWS  DIRECT  FROM  JIMMIE.  187 

«rm  SO  glad  you  are  here,  Annie,"  she  said,  "  for  you 
do  everybody  good  you  come  in  contact  with,  and  I  want 
you  to  talk  to  Jimmie,  will  you  ?" 

Annie  only  smiled,  but  her  cheeks  burned  with  excite- 
ment, and  Kose  was  about  asking  if  her  head  didn't 
ache,  when  a  letter  was  brought  in  bearing  the  Wash- 
ington postmark.  Eagerly  Rose  broke  it  open,  scream- 
ing with  joy  as  she  read  that  Jimmie  had  been  released, 
—had  taken  the  oath  of  allegiance,  and  was  commg  home 
to  Rockland. 

"  He'll  be  here, — let  me  see,— Thursday,  on  the  three 
o'clock  train.  That's  to-mon'ow.  Oh,  I'm  so  glad !" 
and  in  her  delight  the  little  lady  forgot  that  for  the  last 
week  she  had  been  playing  sick,  and  leaping  upon  the 
carpet,  danced  about  the  room,  kissing  alternately  her 
mother  and  Annie,  and  asking  if  they  were  ever  so 
pleased  in  their  lives. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot !"  she  suddenly  exclaimed,  as  she  saw 
the  great  tears  droppiag  from  Annie's  eyes,  and  guessed 
of  what  she  was  thinking.  "I  did  not  mean  to  make 
vou  soiTy  contrasting  Jimmie's  coming  home  with  that 
of  poor  George.  Dear  Annie,  don't  cry,"  and  the  chubby 
arms  closed  coaxingly  round  the  now  sobbing  Annie's 
neck.  "Don't  cry.  You'll  like  Jimmie,  I  know,  and  if 
you  don't,  I  know  you'll  like  dear  Tom.  He's  perfectly 
splendid,  and  he  gave  his  place  to  George,  you  know." 

Yes,  Annie  knew,  but  it  only  made  her  tears  flow  fas- 
ter as  she  thought  of  Rose,  so  full  of  hope,  her  husband 
yet  alive,  and  her  brothers  coming  home,  while  she, 
T\ithout  a  fi-iend  on  whom  she  could  lean,  was  alone  in 
her  desolate  widowhood.  Excusing  herself  from  the 
room,  she  sought  her  own  pleasant  chamber,  and  there 
alone  poured  out  her  grief  into  the  ear  of  One  who  al- 
most since  she  could  remember  had  been  the  recipient 


188  ROSE  MATHER. 

of  all  her  sorrows.  And  Annie  had  far  more  need  of 
help  than  Rose  suspected.  She  could  not  stay  there  and 
meet  Jimmie  Carleton  face  to  face  after  what  she  had 
heard,  while  a  return  to  the  lonely  cottage  seemed  im- 
possible. Widow  Simms's  home  suggested  itself  to  her 
mind;  but  if  the  prisoners  were  exchanged,  and  Isaac 
came  home,  she  might  be  an  intruder  there,  and  besides, 
what  truthful  reason  could  she  give  to  Rose  for  her  strange 
conduct  ?  It  was  a  sad  dilemma  in  which  Annie  found 
herself  so  suddenly  placed,  and  more  than  an  hour  of 
solitary  and  prayerful  reflection,  found  her  still  uncer- 
tain as  to  the  course  duty  would  dictate  in  the  present 
emergency.  It  seemed  expedient  that  she  should  go 
away,  and  when  in  the  evening  she  joined  Rose,  who 
chanced  to  be  alone,  she  suggested  leaving  her  house,  at 
least  during  Jimmie's  stay,  and  going  either  to  the  cot- 
tage in  the  Hollow,  or  to  stay  with  Widow  Simms. 

In  the  utmost  astonishment  Rose  listened  to  the  pro- 
posal, and  then  replied: 

"  You  go  away  because  Jimmie  is  coming !  Preposter- 
ous !  Why,  I  want  you  here  on  his  account,  if  nothing 
more.  Besides,  where  will  you  go  ?  Widow  Simms 
has  taken  Susan  to  hve  with  her  at  John's  request,  and 
that  httle  teenty  place  will  not  begin  to  hold  three  women 
with  /loops  !" 

"  You  forget  the  widow  does  not  wear  them,"  Annie 
suggested,  her  heart  beginning  to  sink,  notwithstanding 
her  playful  words. 

'  "  Yes,  I  know,"  Rose  replied  ;  "  but  you  are  not  going 
there.  If  you  are  in  the  way  here  with  Jimmie,  you'd 
surely  be  more  in  the  way  there  with  Isaac.  Don't  you 
see  ?"  and  Rose  looked  as  if  this  argument  were  alto- 
gether conclusive. 


NEWS  DIRECT  FKOM  JIMMIE.  189 

'*Ican  go  home,"  Annie  said,  faintly.  "The  cottage 
is  mine  till  the  first  of  April." 

Rose  colored,  and  hesitated  somewhat,  as  if  a  Httle 
uncertain  how  what  she  had  to  saj  on  this  subject  might 
be  received;  then,  resolving  to  put  a  bold  face  upon  it, 
she  said: 

"  I  ought  to  have  told  you  before,  I  suppose.  Don't 
you  remember  the  day  you  had  the  sick  headache,  more 
than  a  week  ago  ?  Well,  while  you  were  asleep,  a  man 
came  to  know  if  you'd  let  him  into  the  cottage  till  spring, 
as  he  was  obliged  to  leave  where  he  was,  and  could  find 
no  other  place.  I  did  not  wish  to  wake  you,  and  as  I 
knew  you  would  not  care,  I  said  yes  on  my  own  respon- 
sibility, and  sent  Bridget  down  to  pack  aU  your  things 
in  the  chamber,  as  he  only  wanted  the  lower  rooms. 
She  put  them  away  real  carefuUy,  Bridget  did,  for  I've 
been  myself  to  see,"  Rose  added,  quickly,  as  she  saw  the 
color  mounting  to  Annie's  cheeks,  and  feared  she  might 
be  indignant  at  the  liberty. 

"  And  is  he  there  ?"  Annie  asked,  conquering  all  emo- 
tion, and  speaking  in  her  natural  tone. 

"Yes,  he's  there,"  Rose  answered.  "You  are  not 
angry,  are  you  ?     He's  a  nice  man,  and  so  is  his  wife." 

"I  am  not  angTy,"  Annie  replied,  "but  more  sorry 
than  I  cafi  express,  though,  had  I  been  consulted,  I 
should  undoubtedly  have  done  as  you  did." 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad,  for  it  has  bothered  me  a  heap,  won- 
dering what  you'd  say !"  Rose  cried,  throwing  her  arms 
around  Annie's  neck.  "And  now  you'll  stay  with  us, 
for  you  see  you  have  nowhere  else  to  go  ;  shan't  she, 
mother?"  and  she  appealed  to  iVIrs.  Carleton,  who  had 
just  come  in. 

"Of  course  Mrs.  Graham  will  stay,"  was  IVIrs.  Carle- 
ton's  reply;  for,  during  the  few  days  of  her  sojourn  at 


190  ROSE  MATHEK. 

Rockland,  she  had  become  greatly  interested  in  the 
sweet  young  Annie,  and  already  foresaw  the  benefit  she 
would  be  to  Eose,  who  needed  some  such  influence  to 
keep  her  in  check. 

Mrs.  Carleton  was  proud,  and  at  first  her  daughter's  grow- 
ing intimacy  with  the  vdia  of  a  mechanic  had  given  her 
pride  a  pang,  but  a  closer  acquaintance  had  dispelled  the 
foolish  prejudice,  for  she  saw  in  the  gentle  Annie  unmis- 
takable marks  of  education  and  refinement,  while  she  was 
not  insensible  to  the  charm  thrown  round  th.e  beautiful 
stranger  by  the  lovely  Christian  character  which  shone 
so  brightly  now  ia  the  dark  hour  of  affliction.  Coming 
nearer  to  her,  and  laying  her  hand  in  a  motherly  way 
upon  her  pale  brown  haii',  she  said: 

"  We  all  want  you,  Mrs.  Graham,  and  as  Eose,  by  an 
act  which  I  will  admit  was.  too  presuming,  has  virtually 
closed  your  own  doors  against  you,  I  see  no  alternative 
but  for  you  to  stay  with  us.  Eose  needs  you,  and  as 
she  says,  you  may  do  Jimmie  good,  while  Tojn,  if  he  ever 
comes,  will  be  glad  to  meet  the  wife  of  one  in  whom  he 
was  greatly  interested." 

After  this,  Annie  ofi'ered  no  further  remonstrance, 
though  in  her  heart  she  hoped  Jimmie's  residence  in 
Eockland  would  not  be  very  long.  Of  Tom  she  had  no 
dread.  She  rather  wished  to  see  him  than  otherwise, 
for  he  had  been  kind  to  George,  and  in  fancy  she  had 
enshrined  him  as  a  middle-aged,  greyish-haired  man, 
stoopiQg  a  httle,  perhaps,  and  withal  very  fatherly  and 
venerable  in  his  appearance  I  This  was  ToiUj — but  Jim- 
miey  handsome,  saucy-eyed,  mischievous  Jimmie,  putting 
angle  worms  in  Eose's  bosom,  and  fi'ightening  the  Httle 
Pequot  with  a  mud-tui'tle,  found  on  New  London  beach, 
was  a  very  different  thing,  and  though  trusting  much  to 


THE   CONFEDERATE  SOLDIER'S  WEMCOME.  191 

the  lapse  of  years  and  change  of  name,  Annie  shrank 

nerrously  from  the  dreaded  to-morrow,  which  was  to 
bring  the  Eebel  home. 


CHAPTER  XVn. 


THE    CONFEDERATE   SOLDIER's   WELCOME   TO    ROCKLAND. 

OSE  had  fretted  herself  into  a  headache,  and  aa 
J  Mrs.  Carleton  could  not  think  of  meeting  her 
^^J.^  returning  prodigal  in  the  presence  of  strangers, 
there  was  no  one  to  go  up  to  meet  him  unless  Annie 
should  consent  to  do  so !     But  greatly  to  Rose's  disap- 
pointment Aainie  obstinately  refused,  whHe  Mrs.  Carle- 
ton,  too,  said  it  would  not  be  proper  for  IVIrs.  Graham  to 
go  alone  and  meet  a  stranger  whom  she  had  never  seen 
"Couldn't  she  tell  him   she   was   Anme,  my  adopted 
sister?"    Rose    said,   haH    poutingly.     "^Miat    will    he 
think  when  he  finds  nobody  there  but  Jake,  who,  I  verHy 
belieye  looks  upon  him  as  half  a  savage  for  having  jomed 
the  Southern  army?    I  heard  him,  myself,  teU  Bridget 
that  Ben  Arnold  was  coming  to-day,  meanmg  that  hon-id 
traitor  that  gave  up  Torktown,  or  something,"  and  hav- 
ing  thus  betrayed  her  ignorance  of  Revolutionary  his- 
tory   Rose  bathed  her  aching  head  in  eau- de-cologne, 
and  lay  back  upon  her  pillows,  wondering  what  Jimmie 
would  say,  and  how  he  would  manage  to  brave  the  gap- 
in-  people  who  were  sui'e  to  stare  at  him  as  if  he  were 
Bome  monster.     She  hoped  there  would  not  be  many 
there,  and  of  course  there  wouldn't,  for  who  knew  or 
cared  for  Jimmie's  coming  ? 


192  BOSE  MATHEE. 

More  cared  for  Jimmie's  coming  than  Rose  suspect- 
ed, and  the  sti-eets  were  full  of  men  and  boys  of  a 
certain  class,  hastening  to  the  depot  to  see  the  Rebel,  as 
they  persisted  in  calling  him,  in  spite  of  Billy  Baker's 
repeated  suggestions  that  they  soften  it  down  somewhat 
by  prefixing  the  word  "  reformed^  Bill  was  very  busy, 
yiivy  important,  very  consequential  that  day,  and  quite 
inclined  to  be  very  patronizing,  and  do  the  agreeable  to 
the  man  he  had  captured  at  Manassas.  "Folks  or'to 
overlook  him,"  he  said,  "  and  treat  him  half  way  decent, 
for  the  best  was  apt  to  stumble,  and  there  should  neither 
be  hootin'  nor  hissin',  if  he  could  help  it." 

Indeed,  so  impressed  was  Bill  with  the  idea  that  the 
responsibihty  of  Jimmie's  reception  was  pending  upon 
himself,  that  he  deliberately  knocked  down  two  of  the 
ringleaders,  who  announced  their  intention  to  hoot  and 
to  hiss  as  much  as  they  pleased.  BiU's  warHke  propensi- 
tiee  were  pretty  generally  understood  in  Rockland,  and 
this  energetic  demonstration  had  the  effect  of  quelling, 
to  a  certain  extent,  the  Babel  which  would  otherwise 
have  reigned,  when  at  last  the  train  stopped  before 
the  depot,  and  the  expected  lion  appeared  upon  the 
platform,  his  identity  proven  by  Bill,  who  whispered, 
"That's  him,  with  the  rowdy  hat,— that's  the  chap;'* 
then,  with  a  proud  air  of  self-assurance,  he  stepped  for- 
ward and  offered  his  hand  to  the  embarrassed  stranger, 
who  -was  looking  this  way  and  that,  in  quest  of  a  familiar 

face. 

"  Halloo,  Corporal !"  he  called  out  with  the  utmost 
sangfroid,  "  you  re-cog-Jiize  me,  I  s'pose.  I'm  the  critter 
that  took  you  in  the  Yirginny  woods.  I've  gin  all  them 
contrabands  to  your  sister.  Miss  Marthers.  She  and  I 
has  got  to  be  considerable  intimate.  I  think  a  sight  on 
her,"  he  continued,  as  Junmie  showed  no  signs  of  recip- 


THE  CONFEDERATE  SOLDIER'S  WELC0:ME.         193 

rocating  the  coarse  familiarity  other  than  by  rather 
haughtily  offering  his  hand. 

But  Bill  was  not  to  be  put  down,  for  "  wasn't  he  as 
good  as  Corporal  Carleton  ?  hadn't  they  sustained  to 
each  other  the  relation  of  captor  and  captive,  and  if  there 
were  any  preference,  wasn't  it  in  his  favor  ?"  He  thought 
BO,  and  nothing  abashed  by  Jimmie's  evident  disgust,  he 
was  about  announcing  to  him  that  a  carriage  was  in 
waiting,  when  Jake  made  his  way  through  the  crowd  to 
the  spot  where  Jimmie  stood.  The  sight  of  him  sug- 
gested a  new  idea  to  Bill,  and  bowing  first  to  one  and 
then  to  the  other,  he  said,  "Ah,  Mr.  Jacob  SuUivan,  al- 
low me  to  introduce  you  to  my  friend.  Corporal  Carleton, 
late  of  the  Confederate  army,  supposed  to  be  fitin'  for 
just  such  goods  and  chattels  as  you." 

The  African's  teeth  were  plainly  visible  at  this  novel 
introduction,  while  the  good-humored  smile  which  broke 
over  the  hitherto  cold,  haughty  features  of  the  stranger, 
changed  into  a  general  laugh  the  muttered  groans  and 
imprecations  which  the  words  "  Confederate  Army,"  had 
provoked.  It  was  strange  what  a  difference  that  smile 
made  in  the  looks  of  Jimmie's  handsome  face,  removing 
its  haughty,  sarcastic  expression,  and  softening  to  a  great 
extent  the  feelings  of  the  crowd,  many  of  whom  instinc- 
tively dropped  the  brick-bats,  stones,  and  bits  of  frozen 
mud,  with  which  they  were  prepared  to  pelt  the  Rebel's 
carriage  so  soon  as  they  shoidd  be  in  the  rear.  Still 
they  mujst  have  some  fun,  even  if  it  were  at  BilVs  expense, 
and  just  as  the  latter  was  button-holing  the  persecuted 
Jimmie,  and  escorting  him  to  the  carriage,  one,  more 
daring  than  the  others,  proposed  "  three  groans  and  a 
tiger  for  the  deserter." 

Instantly,  hats,  caps,  and  fists  were  flourished  aloft, 
and  the  air  resounded  with  the  most  direful  sounds  im- 

9 


194  ROSE   »L\THER. 

aginable,  as  groan  after  groan  came  heaving  up  from  the 
leathern  lungs  of  the  crowd.  With  a  fierce  gesture  of 
impatience  Jimmie  turned  upon  them,  his  black  eyes 
flashing  fire  at  what  he  deemed  an  insult  ofi'ered  to  him- 
self. "VMiat^Ter  his  faults  had  been,  desertion  was  not 
among  tJie  number,  and  he  was  about  to  say  so,  w^hen 
Bill,  with  imperturbable  gravity,  whispered  to  him, 
*'  They  don't  mean  you  now,  Corporal.  It's  me  they're 
hittin'  a  dig.  You  see,  I  did  leave  Washington  in  a 
huny.  Don't  mind  'em  an  atom;  they're  the  off- 
scourin's  of  the  town,"  and  having  piloted  Jimmie  safe- 
ly to  the  carriage  door.  Bill  took  off  his  own  cap,  and 
swinging  it  around  his  head,  shouted  aloud,  "  Three 
cheers  for  Corporal  Carleton !" 

For  an  instant  there  was  a  silence,  the  crowd  a  little 
uncertain  as  to  how  far  their  loyalty  might  be  impeached 
by  cheering  for  a  Rebel ;  but  w^hen  the  dark,  handsome 
face,  with  its  winning  smile,  was  again  turned  toward 
them,  and  they  saw  in  it  a  strong  resemblance  to  the 
patriotic  little  lady  whom  even  the  lowest  of  them  had 
learned  to  regard  with  respect,  their  doubts  were  given 
to  the  winds,  and  the  ringleader,  who  carried  in  his 
pocket  a  quantity  of  questionable  eggs,  designed  for 
use  as  the  occasion  might  require,  led  off  the  cheers, 
making  the  depot  ring  with  the  loud  huzzas,  interlarded 
here  and  there  by  a  groan  or  hiss  from  those  not  yet 
won  over  to  the  popular  party. 

Lifting  his  hat  gracefully,  Jinnnie  bowed  an  acknow- 
ledgment, and  his  lips  moved  as  if  about  to  speak,  while 
cries  of  " Hear,  hear !"  "Give  us  a  speech  !"  " Let's 
have  your  politics  !"  ran  through  the  excited  throng. 
Standing  close  to  Jimmie,  who  would  fain  have  dispensed 
with  his  suggestive  presence,  Bill  whispered  in  his  ear, 
"  Let  'er  slide,  Cop'ral.     Go  in  strong  for  Uncle  Sam,  if 


THE   CONFEDERATE  SOLDIER>  WELCOME.         195 

jou  don't  want  this  new  coat  of  youm  sp'ilt.  There 
ain't  a  rotten  hen's  nest  in  town  but  what  was  robbed 
this  momin'  on  your  account,  and  if  they  once  git  fairly 
to  work,  it'll  take  mor'n  me  and  'Mr.  Sullivan  to  stop 
'em!     Pitch  in,  then,  to  your  sarmon." 

Jimmie's  natural  disposition  prompted  him  to  brave 
the  purloined  contents  of  Rockland's  hen's  nests,  but  he 
would  not  endanger  his  sister's  carriage,  and  besides  that, 
he  felt  that  submission  to  people  so  infinitely  beneath 
him  was  a  part  of  his  merited  pimishment;  so,  forcing 
down  his  pride,  he  in  a  few  well-chosen  words,  told  his 
breathless  audience  that  though  he  had  once  proved 
faithless  to  his  country,  none  regretted  it  more  than 
himself,  or  was  now  a  firmer  friend  to  the  Stars  and 
Stripes,  the  brief  speech  ending  with  the  proposal  of 
three  cheese  for  the  Star  Spangled  Banner. 

In  a  trice  the  whole  crowd  responded  with  might  and 
main,  prolonging  their  yells  with  the  cries  of  "  Carleton ! 
Carleton  fojpver!"  and  promises  to  make  him  poHce 
justice  in  the  spring,  should  he  want  to  run  for  that  very 
agreeable  office ! 

"Couldn't  of  done  much  better  myself,"  said  the  de- 
lighted Bill,  hovering  about  the  window  of  the  carnage 
in  which  Jimmie  had  now  taken  his  seat. 

Thoroughly  tired  of  the  scene,  Jimmie  intimated  to 
Jake  his  wish  to  go  home,  and  the  iron  greys  sprang 
quickly  forward,  but  not  until  Jimmie  had  caught  Bill's 
parting  words,  "  Call  round  and  see  a  feller,  won't  you  ? 
Ill  show  you  the  old  gal.  Tou  know  you  asked  me 
about  her  in  the  Virginny  woods." 

5jC  3|C  5fC  *(C  *f*  3(C 

It  seemed  like  a  new  world  to  Jimmie  when,  after  they 
had  left  the  noisy  crowd,  they  turned  into  the  pleasant, 
quiet  street  which  wound  up  the  hill  to  where  the  hand' 


196  '       ROSE   MATHER. 

some  Matlier  mansion  stood,  every  blind  thrown  back 
and  wreaths  of  smoke  curling  gracefully  from  every  chim- 
ney, for  Bose,  wishing  to  do  something  in  honor  of  her 
brother's  return,  had  ordered  the  whole  house  to  be 
opened  as  if  for  a  holiday,  while  every  flower  which  could 
possibly  be  spared  from  her  conservatory,  had  been 
broken  from  its  stem,  and  fashioned  into  bouquets  by 
Annie's  tasteful  hands. 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  splendid,"  Rose  said,  as  she  lay  watch- 
ing Annie  at  her  task,  "wouldn't  it  be  splendid  to  hang 
the  Stars  and  Stripes  in  festoons  across  the  hall,  where 
Jimmie  will  pass  under  them  ?" 

Annie  did  not  think  it  would.  In  her  opinion  Jim- 
mie was  not  deserving  of  such  honor,  and  she  said  so,  us 
dehcately  as  possible,  adding  that  "  were  it  Tom  it  would 
be  a  very  different  thing."  ^ 

Rose  knew  that  Annie  was  right,  and  so  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  were  not  brought  out  to  welcome  the  young  man 
now  rapidly  approaching.  Annie  was  the  first  to  catch 
the  sound  of  the  carriage  wheels,  and  when  Rose  turned 
to  ask  if  she  really  supposed  Jimmie  was  there,  she 
found  herself  alone. 

"She's  gone  to  meet  him,  of  course,"  she  said,  "but  I 
most  wish  she  had  staid  here,  for  I  wanted  to  introduce 
her  myself.     I  hope  she  won't  disHke  him." 

Meantime  in  the  parlor  below,  IVIrs.  Carleton  sat  wait- 
ing for  her  boy, — not  as  Spartan  mothers  were  wont  to 
wait  for  their  sons  returning  from  the  war,  but  with  a 
yearning  tenderness  for  the  loved  prodigal,  blended  with 
loyal  indignation  for  his  sin.  He  was  not  coming  to  her 
as  a  hero  who  had  done  what  he  could  for  his  country, 
but  with  a  traitor's  stain  upon  his  fair  name,  which  she 
would  gladly  have  wdped  out.  She  heard  the  carriage  as 
it  stopped,  and  heard  the  step  on  the  piazza,  not  rapid 


TnE   CONFEDERATE   SOLDIER's  WELCOME-         197 

and  bounding  as  it  used  to  be,  but  slow  and  beaTj,  as  if 
tincertain  which  way  to  turn. 

"  I  must  go  out  to  meet  him,"  she  said,  but  all  her 
strength  forsook  her,  and  sinking  upon  the  sofa,  she 
could  only  call  out  faintly,  "  Jimmie,  my  boy." 

He  heard  her,  and  almost  before  the  words  had  left  her 
lips  her  Jimmie  boy  was  kneeling  at  her  feet,  with  his  face 
biu'ied  for  an  instant  in  her  lap;  then,  with  one  burning 
kiss  upon  her  forehead,  the  proud  James  Carleton,  who 
in  his  early  boyhood  was  scarcely  ever  known  to  acknow- 
ledge that  he  was  wrong,  asked  to  be  forgiven  and 
restored  again  to  the  confidence  and  love  he  had  for- 
feited, and  with  her  hand  upon  his  bowed  head,  the 
mother  forgave  her  boy,' bidding  him  look  up,  that  she 
might  see  again  the  face  she  had  once  thought  so  hand- 
some. It  was  tear-stained  now,  and  worn,  and  IVIi-s. 
Carleton  sighed  as  she  detected  upon  it  unmistakable 
marks  of  reckless  dissipation.  Still  it  was  Jimmie's  face, 
and  it  grew  each  moment  more  natural  as  the  flush  of 
excitement  deepened  on  the  cheeks,  and  lent  an  added 
brightness  to  the  saucy,  laughing  eyes.  The  Hues  upon  the 
forehead  and  about  the  mouth  would  wear  away  in  time, 
Irli'S.  Carleton  hoped,  and  parting  the  soft,  black  curls 
clustering  around  the  broad,  white  bix)w,  she  told  him 
why  Eose  was  not  there  to  meet  him,  and  asked  if  he 
would  go  up  then  to  see  her. 

Rose  heard  them  coming,  and  at  the  sound  of  the 
familiar  voice  calling  her  name,  the  tears  flowed  in  tor- 
rents, and  with  her  face  buried  in  her  pillows  she  re- 
ceived her  brother's  first  embrace.  Very  gently  he 
lifted  up  her  head,  and  taking  in  his  the  httle  hot  hands, 
kissed  again  and  again  her  childish  face,  and  wiping  her 
tears  away,  asked,  half  seriously,  half  playfully,  "  if  they 
met  in  peace  or  war  ?" 


198  BOSE  MATHER. 

"Oil,  in  peace,  in  peace!"  Rose  answered,  and  wind- 
ing her  arms  around  his  neck,  she  hugged  and  cried  over 
him,  asking  why  he  had  been  so  naughty,  when  he  knew 
how  badly  they  would  feel,  and  why  he  had  not  inter- 
fered to  save  poor  Tom  from  a  prisoner's  fate. 

He  explained  to  her  how  that  was  impossible,  but  for 
his  treachery  he  had  no  excuse;  he  could  only  answer 
that  he  was  sorry,  and  ask  again  to  be  forgiven. 

"I  do  not  now  believe  the  South  aU  wrong"  he  said. 
**  Many  of  them  sincerely  think  they  are  fighting  for  their 
firesides;  others  hardly  know  what  they  are  fighting  for; 
while  others  again  are  impressed  into  the  army  and  can- 
not help  themselves.  As  for  me,  I  would  gladly  blot  out 
the  past,  for  which  I  have  no  apology;  but  as  that  can- 
not be,  I  would  rather  talk  as  little  of  it  as  possible. 
Try,  Rose,  to  forget  that  you  ever  had  a  rebel  brother. 
"WiUyouT 

Rose's  kisses  were  a  sufficient  answer.  She  was  too 
happy  just  then  to  remember  aught  save  that  he  had  al- 
ways been  the  dearest  brother  imaginable;  besides  that 
Annie  taught  that  we  must  forgive  as  we  would  be  for- 
given. Annie  bore  no  ill  will  toward  the  South.  She 
prayed  for  them  as  well  as  for  the  North,  and  cried  most 
as  hard  over  the  sick,  suffering  soldiers  captured  by  our 
army  as  over  bur  own  prisoners,  and  if  she  could  forgive. 
Rose  surely  ought  to  do  so  too. 

"You  have  not  seen  Annie  yet,"  she  said;  "she  ran 
away  the  moment  she  knew  you  had  come.  I  thought 
she  might  be  going  to  meet  you,  but  it  seems  she  did 
not.  You  must  love  her  a  heap,  and  I  know  you  will. 
She's  so  beautiful  in  her  mourning,  and  bears  her  trou- 
ble so  sweetly.  I  vrish  everybody  was  as  good  as  Annie 
Graham.     She  has  never  been  heard  to  say  one  bitter 


THE   CONTEDEKATE  SOLDIER'S  WELCOME  199 

tiling  against  the  South.  She  only  pities  and  prays, 
and  says  they  are  misguided." 

"And  pray,  who  is  this  paragon  of  excellence  that  I 
must  love  a  heap?"  Jimmie  asked,  when  Eose  had  ex- 
hausted the  hst  of  Annie's  virtues,  and  paused  for  a  httle 
breath. 

"AMio  was  she?  Hadn't  he  heard  of  Annie?  Kad 
WiU  failed  to  tell  him  of  her  adopted  sister?"  Kose 
asked  in  some  astonishment. 

WiU  had  proved  remiss  in  that  one  particular  duty, 
and  never,  unjbil  this  moment,  had  Jimmie  heard  that 
Eose  had  an  adopted  sister;  and  if  Bose,  why  not  him- 
self ?     Wasn't  he  Eose's  brother  ? 

"Certainly  you  are,"  Eose  repHed;  "but  I'm  not  sure 
Annie  will  let  you  call  her  sister,  because  you're, — you're, 
— ^well,  you  see,  Annie  is  real  good,  and,  as  I  told 
you,  prays,  just  as  hard  for  Southern  soldiers  as  for  ours, 
that  is,  prays  that  they  may  be  Christians,  and  that  their 
sick  and  wounded  may  be  kindly  cared  for,  but  of  course 
she  wants  us  to  beat,  and  knows  we  shall,  but  I  guess 
she  does  not  think  of  you  just  as  she  does  of  Tom, 
though  she  never  saw  either.  She  would  not  go  up  to 
the  depot  to  meet  you,  and  I  wanted  her  to  so  much. 
She  said,  too,  it  was  not  good  taste,  or  something  like 
that,  to  hang  out  our  banner  on  a  Rebel's  account,  and 
she  acts  so  funny  generally  about  your  coming,  home 
that  I  hope  you'll  do  your  best  to  be  agreeable,  and 
make  her  hke  you.  Will  you  Jimmie  ?"  and  Eose  looked 
up  at  her  brother  in  such  a  comical,  serious  way,  that  he 
laughed  aloud,  promising  to  do  his  best  to  remove  all 
prejudice  from  Mks  Graham's  mind,  and  asking  who  she 
was  and  where  she  came  from." 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  where  she  came  fi^^m,"  Eose 
repHed,  a  Httle  uncei-tain  how  to  grapple  with  the  Carle- 


200  ROSE  MATHER. 

ton  pride,  -^ivliicli  existed  in  Jimmie  as  well  as  the  rest  ot 
them.  "  She's  a  lady,  as  any  one  can  see,  and  possessed  of 
as  much  refinement  as  we  often  find  in  Boston.  She 
can't  help  it,  Jimmie,  if  she  is  poor.  It  don't  hurt  her 
one  bit,  and  I'm  getting  over  those  foolish  notions 
cherished  by  our  set  at  home.  Will  says  she  came  of  a 
good  family  and  might  have  married  a  milUonnaire,  old 
enough  to  be  her  father,  but  she  wouldn't.  She  pre- 
ferred a  mechanic,  George  Graham,  the  most  splendid 
looking  man  you  ever  saw.  He's  dead  now,  poor  fellow. 
WiU  took  care  of  him,  and  brought  him  home;  that's 
why  Annie  Hves  with  me." 

Rose's  explanations  were  not  the  plainest  that  could 
have  been  given,  but  Jimmie  extracted  from  the  medley 
of  facts  a  very  prominent  one.  It  was  not  a  Miss  but  a 
3Irs.,  to  whom  he  was  to  be  agreeable.  It  had  not 
seemed  a  very  unpleasant  duty  to  change  a  beautiful 
young  girl's  opinion  of  himself,  but  a  Mrs.  was  a  veiy 
different  affair,  and  for  the  first  time  since  his  arrival  his 
old,  merry,  half-sarcastic  laugh  rang  through  the  room, 
as  with  a  mocking  whistle,  he  said, 

"A  widow,  hey !     How  many  children  does  she  boast ?" 

"Not  a  single  bit  of  a  one,"  Rose  answered,  feeling 
that  Jimmie  had  said  something  very  bad  of  Annie. 

He  saw  it  in  her  countenance,  and  hastened  to  make 
amends  by  asking  numberless  questions  about  Annie, 
whose  history  fi'om  the  time  of  Rose's  first  acquaintance 
with  her  up  to  the  present  hour,  he  managed  at  last  to 
get,  the  result  being  that  he  was  not  as  much  interested 
in  the  Widow  Graham,  as  he  mischievously  called  her, 
as  he  might  have  been  in  Miss  Annie.  The  easily  dis- 
heartened Rose  gave  him  up  as  in  corrigible,  and  men- 
tally hoping  Tom  would  not  prove  as  refractory  as  Jim- 
mie had  done,  she  turned  the  conversation  upon  Will, 


THE  CONFEDERATE    SOLDIER's  WELCOME.  201 

whose  goodness  she  extolled  until  the  supper  bell  rang 
and  Jimmie  arose  to  leave  her  for  a  time,  as  she  was  not 
prepared  to  go  down  that  night  and  do  the  honors  of 
the  table. 


Tlie  gas  was  lighted  in  the  dining-room,  and  the  heavy 
damask  curtains  were  dropped  before  the  long  French 
windows.  A  cheerful  coal  fire  was  blazing  on  the  mar- 
ble hearth,  while  the  table,  with  its  snowy  linen,  its 
china,  silver  and  cut  glass,  presented  a  most  inviting 
appearance,  making  Jimmie  feel  more  at  home  than  he 
had  through  all  the  long  years  of  his  voluntary  exile 
from  the  parental  roof. 

"  This  is  nice,"  he  said,  wdth  a  pleasant  feeling  of  sat- 
isfaction not  unmingled  with  a  certain  degree  of  self-re- 
proach, which  whispered  that  after  what  had  passed  he 
was  hardly  worthy  to  be  the  recipient  of  so  much  lux- 
ury. 

Thoughts  like  these  were  about  shaping  themselves 
into  words,  when  he  caught  sight  of  a  figru'e  he  had  not 
before  observed,  and  became  aware  that  he  was  not  alone 
with  his  mother,  as  he  at  first  supposed.  It  was  a  deli- 
cate little  figure,  not  as  petite  as  his  sister's  but  quite  as 
graceful,  with  its  sloping  shoulders  and  rounded  waist, 
almost  too  small  to-  suit  the  theorems  of  a  Water  Cure, 
but  looking  vastly  well  to  Jimmie,  whose  first  thought 
was  that  he  could  span  it  with  his  hands.  Around  the 
well  shaped  head  the  heavy  bands  of  pale  brown  hair 
were  coiled,  forming  a  large  square  knot  w^hich,  falling 
lowtipon  the  neck,  gave  to  the  figure  a  more  girlish  ap- 
pearance than  Jimmie  had  expected  to  find  in  his  sister's 
protegee,  the  Widow  Graham.  He  knew  it  was  Annie,  by 
the  mourning  robe  fitting  so  closely  around  the  slender 

9* 


202  ROSE  MATHER. 

throat,  and  for  an  instant  he  -wished  she  were  not  there, 
as  he  preferred  being  alone  with  his  mother.  But  one 
glance  at  the  sweet  face  turned  toward  him  as  Mrs.  Caile- 
ton  repeated  his  name,  dispelled  all  such  desires,  and 
with  a  strange  sensatioD,  which  he  attributed  to  pleasant 
disappointment,  he  took  the  soft,  white  hand  which 
Annie  extended  toward  him.  It  was  a  very  small,  a  very 
pretty  hand,  and  trembled  perceptibly  as  it  lay  in  Jim- 
mie's  broader,  warmer  one,  while  on  the  pale  cheek  there 
was  a  deep,  rich  bloom,  which  "Mis.  Carleton  herself  had 
never  observed  before. 

"  I  have  heard  of  Mrs.  Graham  from  my  sister,"  Jim- 
mie  said,  bowing  to  her  with  his  usual  gallantry,  while 
Annie  tried  to  stammer  out  some  reply,  making  a  miser- 
able failure,  and  leaving  on  Jimmie's  mind  the  impres- 
sion that  she  was  prejudiced  against  him,  and  so  would 
not  welcome  him  home. 

A  dozen  times  in  the  course  of  the  supper  Jimmie  as- 
siu'ed  himself  that  he  did  not  care  what  was  the  opinion 
held  of  him  by  such  as  Annie  Graham,  while  he  as  often 
changed  his  mind  and  knew  that  he  did  care,  wondering 
what  it  was  about  her  face  which  puzzled  him  so  much. 
She  looked  a  httle  hke  Tom's  wife,  Mary,  he  thought, 
that  is,  as  Mary  had  looked  just  before  her  departure  for 
Charleston,  when  she  bade  him  good  bye,  whispeiing  to 
him  timidly  of  a  world  where  she  hoped  to  meet  again 
the  friends  she  loved  so  welL  And  as,  whenever  he 
thought  of  Mary,  he  felt  that  her  angel  presence  was 
around  him  still,  he  now  felt  that  another  angel  spirit 
looked  out  at  him  from  the  soft  eyes  of  blue  raised  to  hia 
so  seldom,  and  when  raised  withdrawn  so  quickly 
■\Miat  did  she  think  of  him?  He  would  have  given 
something  to  have  known,  but  he  was  far  from  suspect- 
ing the  truth  or  guessing  what  Annie  felt,  as  she  sa^w 


THE  CONFEDEKATE  SOLDIER's  WELCOME.  203 

upon  his  face  the  lines  of  dissipation,  and  thought  of  the 
debasing  scenes  through  which  he  must  have  passed 
since  the  days  of  auld  lang  syne,  when,  with  the  Httle 
Pequot  of  New  London,  he  sat  upon  the  rocks  and 
watched  the  tide  come  in,  telHng  her  'how,  on  the  mor- 
row night,  his  own  fanciful  httle  boat,  named  for  her, 
should  bear  them  across  the  placid  waters  of  the  bay  to 
where  the  green  hill  lay  sleeping  in  the  summer  moon- 
light. The  Pequot's  reply  had  been  that  the  morrow 
was  the  Sabbath,  and  not  even  the  pleasure  of  a  sail  with 
him  could  tempt  her  to  steal  God's  time,  and  appropri- 
ate it  to  such  a  purpose.  He  had  called  her  a  httle  Pu- 
ritan then,  asking  where  she  learned  so  strict  a  creed, 
and  adding,  "  but  I  half  beheve  you're  right,  and  if  I'd 
known  you  sooner  I  should  have  been  a  better  boy;" 
then  kissing  her  blushing  cheek,  he  had  led  her  from 
the  rocks  over  which  the  waves  were  breaking  now,  and 
that  was  the  last  the  Pequot  ever  saw  of  him.  There 
was  no  sail  upon  the  bay,  no  more  w^atching  for  the  ebb 
and  flow  of  the  evening  tide,  no  walks  on  the  long  piazza, 
or  strolls  upon  the  beach,  nothing  but  news  one  night 
that  the  handsome,  saucy-eyed  boy  was  gone  to  his  home 
in  Boston,  lea^ing  no  message  or  word  of  explanation 
for  her,  the  little  Pequot,  whose  step  was  slower  for  a 
few  days,  and  whose  headache  was  not  feigned,  as  the 
harsh  aunt  said  it  was,  when  she  refused  to  join  the  rev- 
ellers in  the  parlor,  and  dance  with  the  gTey-haired  man, 
four  times  her  age,  who  sought  her  for  his  partner. 
They  had  not  met  since  then  till  now,  and  Annie  strug- 
gled hard  to  keep  back  the  tears  as  she  remembered  ai 
that  had  come  to  her  since  that  summer  at  New  London 
— remembered  the  childish  fancy  which  died  out  so  fast, 
and  the  later  love  which  crowned  her  early  girlhood, 
imding  its  full  fruition  at  the  marriage  altar,  and  twin- 


204:  EOSE  MATHER. 

ing  itself  so  closely  around  the  fibres  of  her  heart,  that 
when  it  was  torn  away,  it  left  them  sore  and  bleeding 
with  pain  at  every  pore. 

Surely,  with  this  sad  experience,  Annie,  young  and 
beautiful  though  she  was,  could  feel  for  Jimmie  Carleton 
naught  save  the  deference  she  would  have  felt  for  any 
stranger  who  came  to  her  as  the  brother  of  her  patron- 
ess. And  still  she  was  conscious  of  a  deeper  interest  in 
him  than  if  he  had  been  a  perfect  stranger,  and  his  pres- 
ence awoke  within  her  an  uncomfortable  feehng,  making 
her  wish  more  and  more  that  she  was  away  where  she 
would  not  be  obliged  to  come  in  daily  contact  with  him. 
Under  these  circumstances  it  is  not  strange  the  conversa- 
tion flagged,  until  for  Rose's  sake  Annie  felt  compelled 
to  make  an  effort.  Suddenly  remembering  Isaac  Simms, 
she  asked  if  anything  was  ever  heard  at  Washington  of 
the  Richmond  prisoners  ? 

"Yes,"  Jimmie  replied;  and  eager  to  show  his  own 
willingness  to  talk  of  the  war  and  the  Fedei'al  Army,  he 
told  how  only  the  day  before  he  left  for  Rockland,  news 
had  come  from  Tom,  saying  he  was  well  as  could  be  ex- 
pected, considering  his  fare,  but  the  boy  captured  ^th 
him  would  surely  die  if  not  soon  restored  to  purer  air 
and  better  care  than  those  tobacco  prisons  afforded. 

'•  Oh, — it  will  kill  IMrs.  Simms  if  they  should  bring 
him  back  to  her  dead,"  and  the  hot  tears  gushed  from 
Annie's  eyes  as  she  heard  in  fancy  the  muffled  drum 
beating  its  funeral  marches  to  the  grave  of  another  Rock- 
land volunteer. 

The  tears  once  started  could  not  be  repressed,  and 
BIrs.  Carleton  and  Jimmie  finished  their  supper  alone, 
for  Annie  excused  herself,  and  hastening  to  her  room, 
poured  out  her  grief  in  tears  and  prayers  for  the  poor 
sick  boy,  pining  in  his  dreary  prison  home,  while  min- 


Tqp  CONFEDERATE  SOLDIER's  WELCOME.  205 

gled  with  her  tears  was  a  note  of  thanksgiving  that  to 
her  had  been  given  the  comfort  of  knowing  that  the  death 
pillow  of  her  darHng  was  smoothed  with  fiiendly  hands, 
and  that  no  harsh,  discordant  sounds  of  prison  riot  or 
discipline  had  disturbed  his  peaceful  dying. 

Meantime  Jimmie  had  returned  to  his  sister,  whose 
first  question  was  for  Annie.  "What  did  he  think  of 
her?  Wasn't  she  sweet,  and  hadn't  she  the  prettiest 
blue  eyes  he  ever  saw  ?" 

"  I  hardly  saw  them,  for  ehe  is  evidently  coy  of  her 
glances  at  a  Rebel"  Jimmie  answered,  half  playfully,  half 
bitterly,  for  Annie's  manner  of  quiet  reserve  had  piqued 
him  more  than  he  cared  to  confess, 

"She's  bashful,"  Rose  replied;  "and  then,  Jimmie, 
you  can't  expect  her  to  forgive  you  as  readily  as  your 
own  sister,  for  you  know  she  never  saw  you  till  to-night, 
and  she's  a  true  patriot;  but  say,  did  you  ever  see  so 
sweet  a  face — one  that  made  you  think  so  much  of  an 
angel  ?" 

"  Rather  too  pale  to  suit  my  taste.  I  like  high  color 
better,"  and  Jimmie  pinched  Rose's  glowing  cheek  until 
she  screamed  for  him  to  stop. 

"  It's  all  going  wrong,  I  know,"  Rose  began,  poutingly. 
"You  don't  Hke  Annie  a  bit,  and  she's  so  good,  too. 
You  can't  begin  to  guess  how  good.  And  there's  nothing 
blue  about  her,  either.  Why,  she's  a  heap  more  cheerful 
than  I  could  be  if  Will  were  dead,  as  George  is.  I'd  die 
too, — I  know  I  should;  but  Annie's  a  real  Christian,  and 
that  does  make  a  difference.  It  seems  to  be  all  through 
her,  and  she  hves  it  every  minute.  I  honestly  believe 
I'm  better  than  before  she  came.  She  has  actually  per- 
suaded me  not  to  get  up  big  dinners  on  Sunday,  as  I 
used  to  do,  but  to  let  aU  the  servants  go  to  church,  and 
every  night  she  goes  for  half  an  hour  into  the  kitchen, 


206  EOSE    ItfATHER.  ^ 

and  teaches  old  black  Phillis  how  to  read  the  Bible. 
She's  so  truthfiil,  too.  Why,  she  said  she  presumed  that 
little  Pequot  girl  would  not  have  liked  you  any  way  after 
she  heard  that  Dick  Lee  was  not  your  name." 

*'  The  Pequot  girl !  How  came  Mrs.  Graham  to  hear 
of  her  ?"  Jimmie  asked,  his  face  flushing  crimson. 

"  Oh,  I  hai^pened  to  ask  mother  something  about  her 
one  day,  right  before  Annie,  and  so,  of  course,  explained 
a  Httle.  It  would  not  have  been  polite  if  I  "hadn't," 
Rose  rephed,  adding,  as  she  saw  her  brother's  evident 
chagi'in,  "you  need  not  mind  one  bit,  for  Annie  never 
tells  anything." 

It  was  not  the  fearing  she  would  tell  which  affected 
Jimmie  unpleasantly;  it  was  the  feeling  that  he  would 
rather  Annie  Graham  should  not  know  of  all  his  dehn- 
quencies,  and  so  despise  him  accordingly.  How  unfor- 
tunate it  was  that  she  was  there,  and  yet  he  would  not 
have  sent  her  away  if  he  could,  though  he  did  wish  she 
were  not  so  well  posted  with  regard  to  his  affairs,  both 
past  and  present.  "What  made  Rose  tell  her  of  the 
Pequot,  and  why  had  the  Pequot  haunted  him  ever  since 
he  came  into  that  house  ?  Something  had  brought  her 
to  his  mind,  and  as  the  servant  just  then  came  in,  bring- 
ing her  mistress's  supper,  he  left  his  seat  by  Rose,  and 
walking  to  the  window  looked  out  upon  the  starry  sky, 
wondering  within  himself  where  she  was  now,  the  httle 
girl  who  had  sat  with  him  upon  the  rocks,  and  told  him 
it  was  wicked  to  break  God's  fourth  command.  The 
scene  which  Annie  saw  at  the  supper  table  was  present 
with  him  now,  remembered,  for  the  first  time,  since  the 
battle  at  Bull  Run.  Then,  as  he  lay  waiting  for  the  foe, 
he  had  in  fancy  heard  again  a  sweet,  girhsh  voice,  bid- 
ding him  keep  holy  the  Sabbath  day,  and  the  tear  which 
dropped  upon  his  gun  was  prompted  by  the  thought  of 


THE  CONFEDERATE   SOLDIEIl's  WELCOME.  207' 

all  he  had  passed  through  since  the  happy  school-bo^ 
days  when  the  Fequot  preached  to  him  her  gentle 
sermons. 

In  the  hall  there  was  a  rapid  footstep,  and  Rose  called 
out: 

"  Annie,  Annie,  come  here.  Why,  where  are  you  going 
to-night?"  she  continued,  in  much  surprise,  as  Annie 
looked  in,  hooded  and  shawled  as  for  some  expedition. 

"  Going  to  see  Mrs.  Simms.  It  is  not  far,  you  know," 
was  Annie's  answer,  and  the  door  closed  after  her  in 
time  to  prevent  her  hearing  Eose's  reply. 

"It's  dark  as  pitch,  and  slippery  too.  Jimmie,  do 
please  see  her  to  the  gate,  but  don't  go  in,  for  the  widow 
is  awful  against  Rebels  !" 

The  next  moment  Jimmie  was  half  way  down  the 
stairs,  calling  to  Annie,  who  held  the  door-knob  in  her 
hand. 

"  ]\ii's.  Graham,  allow  me  to  be  your  escort, — Rose  is 
not  willing  you  should  go  out  alone." 

"  Thank  you,  I  am  not  at  all  afraid,  and  prefer  going 
alone,  as  Mrs.  Simms  might  not  care  to  meet  a  stranger," 
Annie  replied,  with  an  air  of  so  much  quiet  dignity,  that 
Jimmie  knew  there  was  no  alternative  for  him  save  to 
return  to  his  sister's  chamber,  which  he  did,  feehng  far 
more  crestfallen  than  he  had  supposed  it  possible  for 
him  to  feel,  just  because  a  widow  had  refused  his  escort. 

It  was  wholly  owing  to  the  taint  of  Rebeldom  cHnging 
to  him,  he  knew,  for  he  was  not  accustomed  to  having 
his  attentions  thus  slighted  by  the  ladies  to  whom  they 
were  offered,  and  all  unconsciously  the  manner  of  reserve 
which  Annie  assumed  toward  him  was  punishing  him  for 
his  sin  quite  as  much  as  anything  which  had  yet  occurred, 
making  him  feel  keenly  that  by  his  traitorous   act  he 


2C8  ROSE  MATHER. 

had,  for  a  time  at  least,  built  a  gulf  between  himself  and 
those  whose  good  opinion  was  worth  the  having. 

"  AVhy  haven*t  you  gone  ?"  Rose  asked,  as  he  came  into 
the  room.  "She  wouldn't  let  you?  I  don't  beUeve  you 
asked  her  just  as  you  should.  Dear,  dear,  it's  all  going 
wrong  between  you  two,  and  if  Tom  don't  act  any  bet- 
ter when  he  comes  home,  what  shall  I  do  ?" 

"  Send  IVIrs.  Graham  away,"  trembled  on  Jimmie's  lips, 
but  knowing,  from  what  he  had  seen,  that  so  far  as  Rose 
was  concerned,  Annie's  tenure  at  the  Mather  mansion 
was  stronger  than  his  own,  he  wisely  kept  silent,  and 
sitting  down  by  the  open  grate,  he  went  off  into  a  fit  of 
abstraction,  mingled  with  sad  regrets  for  the  past  and 
occasional  thoughts  of  the  little  white-faced  Annie,  now 
essaying  to  comfort  the  Widow  Simms,  who  had  extorted 
from  her  the  intelligence  brought  by  Jimmie  of  her  boy, 
and  who,  with  her  hard  hands  covering  her  face,  was 
weeping  bitterly,  and  sobbing  amid  her  tears, 

*'  My  poor,  poor  boy !  It's  the  same  to  me  now  as  if 
he  was  dead.  I'll  never  see  him  any  more.  Oh,  Isaac, 
my  darling !" 


CHAPTER  XVnL 

THE   RICHMOND    CAPTIVES. 


/  OW  dose,  and  dirty,  and  terrible  it  was  on  that 
third  floor  of  the  dingy  tobacco  house,  where 
Isaac,  as  a  private,  was  first  confined,  and  as  the 
summer  days  glided  by  and  the  August  sun  came  pour- 
ing into  the  great,  disorderly  room,  how  the  young  boy 
panted  and  piued  for  a  breath  of  sweet,  pure  air,  such  as 
*  swept  over  the  far-off  Eastern  hills,  and  how  full  of  wist- 


THE  RICHMOND  CAPTIVES.  209 

fill  yearning  were  the  glances  he  cast  toward  the  grated 
windows,  seeking  to  catch  glimpses  of  the  busy  world 
without,  in  which  he  could  not  mingle.  Not  very  near 
those  windows  did  he  dare  approach,  for  more  than  one 
had  already  paid  the  penalty  of  such  transgression,  and 
in  his  dreams,  Isaac  saw  yet  the  white  death  agony  which 
stole  over  the  face  of  the  Fire  Zouave  shot  by  the  in- 
human guard  while  looking  from  the  window. 

No  wonder  that  the  homesick  boy  grew  sadder,  wea- 
rier each  day  amid  such  horrors  as  these,  praying,  some- 
times, that  he  might  die,  even  though  he  must  be  buried 
far  from  the  quiet  Kockland  churchyard,  where  the  cy- 
press and  the  willow  were  growing  so  green  and  fair, 
and  where  a  mother  could  sometimes  come  and  weep 
over  her  soldier  boy's  gi'ave.  It  would  matter  little 
where  he  slept,  he  thought,  or  what  indignities  were 
heaped  upon  his  hfeless  form,  for  his  soul  could  not  be 
touched;  that  would  be  safe  with  Him,  whom  Isaac,  in 
his  captivity,  had  found  to  be  indeed  the  Friend  which 
sticketh  closer  than  a  brother.  The  Saviour,  honored 
since  early  childhood,  did  not  desert  the  captive,  and 
this  it  was  which  made  him  strong  to  bear,  through  the 
long  summer  days,  during  which  there  came  to  him  no 
tidings  of  his  home,  and  his  eye  was  greeted  with  no 
sight  of  a  famihar  face,  for  Captain  Carleton  was  yet  an 
inmate  of  the  hospital.  Neither  did  any  friendly  message 
come  to  tell  he  was  remembered  by  the  man  whose  for- 
tunes he  had  voluntarily  shared,  when  he  might,  perhaps, 
have  escaped,  for  though  Tom  thought  often  of  the  gen- 
erous lad,  and  sent  to  him  many  a  word  of  comfort, 
through  mistake  or  negligence  only  one  brief  message 
had  ever  reached  its  destination,  and  so  forsaken  by 
every  human  aid,  poor  Isaac  looked  to  Heaven  for  help. 


210  ROSE  MATHER. 

finding  there  a  peace  which  kept  his  heart  from  break- 
ing. 

But  as  the  summer  days  glided  into  Sei3tember,  and 
the  heat  grew  more  and  more  intense,  until  at  last  Sep- 
tember, too,  was  gone,  and  the  Vii'ginia  woods  were  blazing 
in  the  hght  of  the  October  sun,  and  stiU  there  was  no 
token  of  reHef,  oh  !  who,  save  those  who  have  felt  it,  can 
tell  of  the  loneliness,  the  dreary  despair,  which  crept  into 
the  captive's  soul,  driving  out  all  hope,  and  making  life 
as  it  existed  in  those  walls  a  burden,  which  would  be 
gladly  shaken  off.  How  Isaac  paled  and  drooped  as  the 
weary  hours  stole  on  ;  how  he  loathed  the  sickening 
food;  and  how  at  night  he  shuddered  with  horror,  and 
shrank  away  from  the  vermin -covered  floor,  his  only  pil- 
low unless  he  substituted  the  coat,  now  scarcely  less 
filthy  than  its  surroundings  !  As  Tom  wrote  to  the  New 
Hampshire  woman,  Mrs.  Simms  would  scarcely  have  re- 
cognized her  son  in  the  haggard,  emaciated  boy,  who, 
on  one  October  afternoon,  sat  crouching  in  his  corner, 
grasping  the  httle  Testament  given  by  the  Rockland 
ladies,  and  repeating  its  precious  truths  to  the  poor, 
sick,  worn-out  youth,  whose  head  lay  on  his  lap,  and 
whose  eyes,  blistered  with  homesick  tears,  were  fastened 
with  a  kind  of  hungry  wistfulness  upon  the  girlish  face 
above  him,  the  face  of  Isaac  Simms,  pointing  the  dying 
soldier  to  the  only  source  of  hfe.  It  was  thus  Tom 
Carleton  found  him,  Tom,  just  released  from  the  hospi- 
tal, and  transferred  to  the  first  floor  of  that  dark  prison. 

With  Tom  it  had  fared  better,  for  Yankee-like  ia  his 
precautions,  he  had  gone  into  the  battle  with  a  quantity 
of  gold  fastened  securely  around  his  person,  and  gold  has 
a  mighty  power  to  unlock  the  hardest  heart.  As  a  com- 
missioned officer,  and  a  man  of  wealth  and  rank,  many 
privileges  were  accorded  to  him  which  were  denied  the 


THE  EICHMOND  CAPTIYES.  211 

common  soldiers,  and  his  first  act  after  entering  the 
tobacco  house  was  to  seek  out  his  late  companion  and 
ask  after  his  welfare.  He  did  not  know  him  at  first, 
though  directed  to  that  locality  as  the  one  where  the 
*'  Preacher"  would  probably  be  found.  He  could  not 
think  he  had  ever  seen  either  of  these  famished,  misera- 
ble looking  creatures,  but  touched  by  the  impressive 
scene,  he  stood  a  moment  listening,  while  Isaac  read, 

"  I  am  the  way,  the  truth,  and  the  life. .  No  man  com- 
eth  to  the  Father  but  by  me." 

"  Yes,  but  how  shall  I  go  to  Him?  Where  is  He?"  the 
sick  boy  asked,  and  bending  lower,  Isaac  answered  : 

"  He's  here.  He's  standing  close  by  you.  He  hears 
all  I  say.  He  knows  you  want  him,  and  he  will  not  cast 
you  off,  for  he  has  said  he  wouldn't.  Only  believe,  and 
take  him  at  his  word,  that's  all." 

There  was  an  evident  lifting  up  of  both  souls  to  God, 
and  Tom  felt  that  even  in  that  horrid  place,  there  were 
ano-els  dwelling.  He  knew  now  that  one  was  Isaac,  and 
the  great  tears  roUed  down  his  cheeks  as  he  sav/  the 
fearful  change  wrought  in  httle  more  than  two  short 
months. 

"Isaac,"  he  said,  softly,  "Isaac,  my  boy,  don't  you 
know  me  ?" 

Not  till  then  had  Isaac  observed  the  tall  figure  stand- 
ing near,  but  at  the  sound  of  the  well-remembered  voice 
he  looked  quickly  up,  and  putting  gently  from  him  the 
head  of  his  comrade,  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  scream  of 
joy,  and  threw  himself  into  the  open  arms  of  Tom,  who 
held  and  soothed  him,  while  he  sobbed  out  his  delight. 

"  Oh,  Captain  Carleton !"  he  cried,  his  body  quivering 
with  emotion,  "  I  am  so  glad !  I  thought  you  had, — I 
didn't  know, — Oh,  why  haven't  you  come  before,  I'm  so 
sick,  so  sick  and  tu-ed,  that  I  almost  want  to  die  !     Will 


£ia  ROSE   MATHER. 

vre  ever  be  exchanged;  have  they  forgotten  ns  at  "Wash- 
ington ?     Shall  we  never  go  home  again  ?" 

These  were  questions  which  more  than  one  poor  captive 
had  asked,  and  which  none  could  answer.  Tom,  how- 
ever, did  the  best  he  could,  and  hushing  Isaac  as  he 
would  have  hushed  and  quieted  a  grieving  child,  he  spoke 
to  him  many  a  word  of  comfort,  promising  to  care  for 
him  as  for  a  younger,  brother,  and  speaking  of  various 
ways  in  which  his  forlorn  condition  should  be  bettered, 
now  that  he  was  an  inmate  of  the  same  prison.  It  was  a 
blissful  interview,  and  its  good  effects  were  seen  in  the 
brightness  of  Isaac's  face,  and  the  cheerful  smile  which 
played  around  his  mouth,  even  after  Tom  had  gone  to 
his  quarters  below. 

Softer  than  downy  pillow  seemed  the  hard  bare  floor, 
that  night,  as  with  his  arm  thrown  round  his  invahd 
friend,  Isaac  lay  dreaming  of  the  fi'ost-tipped  trees  at 
home,  and  the  brown  nuts  rixDening  on  the  hill,  where 
he,  perhaps,  might  pick  them  yet,  for  Tom  had  given 
some  encouragement  that  an  exchange  would  ere  long  be 
effected,  and  as  each  believed  his  own  name  would  be  upon 
the  hst,  so  Isaac  hoped  his  would,  and  in  slumber's  fitful 
fancy  he  was  at  home  again,  and  saw  his  mother  come 
softly  in  to  tuck  the  bed-clothes  round  him,  or  see  if  he 
were  sleeping,  just  as  she  used  to  do.  How  still  he  lay 
to  make  her  think  he  ivas  asleep  !  How  real  seemed  the 
vision,  how  life-like  the  kiss  pressed  upon  his  lips,  and 
the  tear-drop  that  came  with  it !  In  a  comer  of  the 
room  there  were  groans  and  imprecations,  and  with  a 
nervous  start  the  dreamer  woke  to  find  it  all  a  horrid  de- 
lusion. That  stifling,  fetid  atmosphere  had  in  it  no  odor 
of  Rockland's  healthful  breezes,  and  the  star,  shining  on 
him  through  the  iron  bars,  though  familiar  to  him,  was 
not  the  same  which  he  used  to  watch  fi-om  the  window, 


THE   EICHMOKD   CAPTIYES.  213 

beneath  the  eayes,  facing  to  the  north.  No  home,  no 
mother,  no  soft  feathery  pillow  for  his  head,  or  blanket 
for  his  body — nothing  but  that  feverish  hand  still  upon 
his  forehead,  and  that  tear  on  his  cheek,  for  these  were 
real,  and  the  sick  soldier  at  his  side,  who  gave  the  kiss 
and  tear,  was  whispering  in  his  ear,  that  the  way  so 
tearfully  sought  was  found  at  last;  that  the  gloomy,  des- 
olate prison  was  like  the  gates  of  Paradise,  and  death 
disarmed  of  all  its  tenror. 

"  If  mother  could  only  know  it,"  he  said,"  I  should  be 
so  glad,  and  you'll  tell  her,  won't  you,  when  you  get  home 
again  ?  Tell  her  it  wasn't  very  hard  to  die,  even  in  this 
dingy  hole;  that  Heaven  and  Jesus  are  as  near  to  me 
here  on  the  floor,  as  if  I  were  lying  on  my  own  bed  at 
home,  with  her  standing  by.  TeU  her  I'm  glad  I  fought 
for  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  but  sorry  I  ran  away  without 
her  consent,  for  I  did.  I  got  out  on  the  wood-shed  roof, 
and  so  came  off  unseen.  She's  prayed  for  me  every  day 
and  every  night,  and  God  has  heard  her  prayers.  He 
sent  you  here  to  lead  me  in  the  way,  and  after  I  am  gone, 
he'll  let  you  go  back  again." 

There  were  a  few  more  whispered  words  on  either 
side,  and  then  the  exhausted  but  happy  youth  fell  away 
to  sleep,  while  Isaac  wept  with  thankfulness  that  his 
confinement  there  had  not  been  all  in  vain. 

Faithful  to  his  promise,  Tom,  as  far  as  was  possible, 
allev-iated  the  hardships  so  long  and  so  meekly  borne  by 
Isaac,  and  with  his  gold  bought  many  a  dehcacy  for 
Isaac's  end,  the  poor,  sick  Massachusetts  boy,  who, 
one  night  ere  the  physician  had  fairly  decided  that  he 
was  in  need  of  medical  care,  laid  his  head  on  Isaac's  lap, 
as  he  was  wont  to  do,  and  wdth  aiiother  whispered  mes- 
sage for  the  mother  far  away,  and  another  assurance  of 


214  ROSE  MATHER. 

perfect  peace,  -went  where  the  wicked  cease  from  troub- 
ling, and  the  weary  are  at  rest  I 

While  he  lived  there  had  been  something  to  take 
Isaac's  mind — something  to  excite  his  sympathy,  and  in 
ministering  to  Heni-y's  wants,  he  had  more  than  half 
forgotten  his  own,  but  now  that  he  was  gone,  and  the 
corner  where  he  had  sat  or  lain  was  empty,  Isaac,  too, 
faded  rapidly,  and  not  all  Tom's  efforts  had  power  to 
save  him  from  the  apathy  which  came  stealing  over  him 
so  fast.  Touched  with  pity  at  his  forlorn,  dejected  ap- 
pearance, his  comrades  made  him  a  httle  bed  in  the  cor- 
ner where  the  dead  boy  had  been,  and  there  all  the  day 
long  he  lay,  rarely  noticing  any  one  except  Tom  Carle- 
ton,  who  came  often  to  his  side,  and  whose  own  warm 
blanket  formed  the  pillow  for  his  head.  From  the  first 
floor  to  the  third  there  was  not  one  who  was  not  more  or 
less  interested  in  the  pale  invalid,  bearing  his  pain  so 
patiently,  never  complaining,  never  repining,  but  thank- 
ing those  about  him  for  any  kindness  rendered  with  such 
childlike,  touching  sweetness,  that  even  the  rough  jailer 
regarded  him  with  favor,  and  paused  sometimes  to  speak 
to  him  a  word  of  encouragement. 

In  this  state  of  feeling  it  was  not  a  difficult  matter  for 
Tom  to  obtain  permission  for  Isaac  to  be  removed  from 
the  dirty  comer  above  to  his  own  comj^aratively  comfort- 
able cot  in  the  officers'  apartments  below.  But  this  did 
not  effect  a  cure.  Nothing  could  do  that  save  a  sight  of 
home  and  mother. 

"  Could  I  see  her"  Isaac  said  one  day,  "  or  even  stand 
again  beneath  the  Federal  Flag,  I  might  get  better,  but 
here  I  shall  surely  die,  and  if  I  do,  oh.  Captain  Carleton, 
you'll  get  them  to  send  me  home,  won't  you?  I 
don't  care  for  myself  where  I  am  buried,  but  my  mother, 
— ^it  would  break  her  heart  to  hear  I  was  put  with  the 


THE  RICHMOND  CAPTIVES.  215 

negroes.  She's  a  rough  woman,  and  folks  who  don't 
know  her  much,  thinks  she's  cross  and  queer,  but  she's 
been  so  good  to  me,  and  I  love  her  so  much !  Oh,  mother, 
mother,  I  wish  she  was  here  now,"  and  the  sick  boy 
turned  his  white  face  to  the  wall,  sobbing  out  choking 
sobs  which  seemed  to  come  from  the  lowest  depths  of 
his  heart. 

Cries  for  home  and  mother  were  not  uncommon  in  that 
prison-house,  but  there  was  something  so  piteous  in  his 
child-like  wail  that  other  officers  than  Tom  bent  over 
the  poor  lad,  tiding  to  comfort  him  by  telling. of  an  ex- 
change which,  it  was  hoped  would  ere  long  be  effected, 
and  by  painting  happy  pictures  of  the  glad  rejoicing 
which  would  greet  the  returning  captives.  For  an  in- 
stant the  great  tears,  dropping  so  fast  from  Isaac's  Hds, 
were  staid  in  their  course,  and  a  smile  of  hope  shone  on 
his  pallid  face,  but  quickly  passed  away  as  he  suggested, 

"  Yes,  but  who  knows  if  /  will  be  on  the  Hst  ?"  , 

No  one  could  tell  him  that.  All  would  not  go,  they 
knew,  and  they  could  only  wait  patiently,  each  hoping 
he  would  be  the  favored  one.  At  last  there  came  a  day, 
never  to  be  forgotten  by  the  inmates  of  that  tobacco, 
house,  a  day  on  which  was  read  the  names  of  those  who 
were  to  be  released  and  breathe  again  the  air  of  freedom. 
Oh,  how  anxiously  the  sick  boy  listened  as  one  after 
another  was  called.  "Captain  Thcpias  Carleton  "  was 
among  the  number,  and  a  deep  flush  stole  to  the  young 
man's  face  as  uncertainty  was  thus  made  sure.  He  was 
going  home,  and  hke  waves  upon  the  beach,  the  throbs 
of  joy  beat  around  his  heart,  makiug  him  glad  as  a  httle 
child  when  returning  tg^  its  mother  after  a  long  separa- 
tion. 

But  oh,  who  shall  tell  Isaac's  emotions  as  name  after 
name  was  called,   and    none    that    sounded    Hke    his. 


216  ROSE  MATHER. 

Would  they  never  reach  it,  never  say  Isaac  Simms  f 
Could  it  be  he  was  not  there  ?  Larger  and  thicker  grew 
the  drops  of  sweat,  quivering  about  his  mouth,  and  stand- 
ing upon  his  forehead.  AVhiter,  more  death-like  grew  his 
face;  heavier,  sadder,  more  mournful  the  eyes,  fixed  so 
wistfully  upon  the  caller  of  that  roll,  growing  less  so  fast. 
There  could  not  be  many  more,  and  the  head  drooped 
upon  the  heaving  bosora,  with  a  discouraged,  disheart- 
ened feeling,  just  as  the  last  was  read,  not  his,  not  Isaac 
Simms.  He  was  not  (here,  and  with  a  moan,  which  smote 
painfully  pn  Tom's  ear,  the  disappointed  boy  turned 
awa3%  and  wept  bitterly,  while  his  pale  Ups  moved  feebly 
with  the  prayer  for  help  he  essayed  to  make.  To  be  left 
there  alone,  with  no  kind  Captain  Carleton  to  soothe  the 
weary  hours,  to  be  returned,  most  likely,  to  the  noisy 
floor  above,  to  die  some  night  when  nobody  knew  or 
cared, — it  was  terrible, — and  Widow  Simms  would  have 
shrieked  in  anguish  could  she  have  seen  the  look  of  des- 
pair settling  down  on  her  darling's  face. 

But  though  she  did  not  see  it,  there  was  one  who  did, 
and  guessing  at  the  thoughts  which  prompted  it,  he 
walked  away  to  be  alone,  and  gather  strength  for  the 
sacrifice  he  must  make.  Tom  Carleton  could  not  desert 
the  boy  who  had  clung  so  faithfully  to  him,  and  as  Isaac 
had  once  staid  by  him  in  the  Virginia  woods,  when  he 
might  have  gone  awgiy,  so  he  now  would  stay  with  Isaac. 
Still  it  was  hard  to  give  up  going  home,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment he  felt  as  if  he  could  not.  There  was  a  fierce 
struggle  between  duty  and  inclination, — a  mighty  combat 
between  Tom's  selfishness  and  his  better  nature, — and 
then  the  latter  conquered.  He  must  stay.  It  would  not 
be  difiicult  to  find  some  person  to  take  his  place  clan- 
destinely, for  already  were  the  unfortunate  ones  seeking 
to  buy  such  chances,  and  offering  every  possible  induce- 


THE   EICHMOND   CAPTIVES.  217 

ment  to  any  wlio  would  accept.  A  young  lieutenant 
about  his  age  and  appearance,  and  whose  wife  and  child 
were  suffering  from  his  absence,  was  the  one  selected  by 
Tom  as  his  substitute,  and  the  matter  soon  arranged. 
Then,  with  a  forced  cheerfulness  he  did  not  feel,  Tom 
wemt  back  to  Isaac,  who  was  still  weeping  silently  on  his 
couch,  and  whispering  to  an  unseen  presence,  "  You'll 
never  leave  me,  will  you  ?  and  when  I  die  you'll  take  me 
up  to  Heaven  ?'' 

Here  was  a  faith,  a  trust,  to  which  Tom  Carleton  was 
a  stranger,  and  wishing  himself  more  like  that  sick  boy, 
he  bent  over  the  cot,  and  said  cheerily, 

"  Isaac,  are  you  asleep  ?" 

In  the  tone  of  his  voice  there  was  something  so  kind 
and  sympathetic,  that  Isaac  started  up,  and  winding  his 
feeble  arms  around  Tom's  neck,  sobbed  out, 

"Forgive  me.  Captain  Carleton;  I'm  glad  you  are  go- 
ing home,  but  I  wasn't  at  first;  the  bad,  hard  lumps  kept 
rising  in  my  throat  as  I  thought  of  staying  here  alone 
without  you,  but  they're  gone  now.  I  prayed  them  all 
away,  and  I  am  glad  you  are  going.  I  shall  miss  you 
dreadfully,  but  God  Wjl.i  riot  forsake  me.  And,  Captain 
Carleton,  if  yau  ever  do, — s^^e  —my, — my  " 

Isaac's  voice  was  choked  with  tears,  and  he  could  not 
at  first  articulate  that  dear  word,  but  soon  recovering,  he 
went  on — "see  my  mother,  you'll- tell  her  about  me. 
Tell  her  everything  except  how  I've  suffered.  That 
would  do  no  good— 'twould  only  make  her  cry,  and 
when  she  hears,  as  she  maybe  will,  that  I  am  dead,  teU 
I  wasn't  afraid,  for  the  Saviour  was  with  me.  I'd  rather 
you  shouldn't  say  good-bye  at  the  last.  It  would  make 
me  feel  so  bad,  only  sometime  before  you  go  I  want  to 
tell  you  how  much  I  love  you  for  your  goo^iness,  and  to 

ask  you  to  be  a  ' 

10 


218  EOSE  MATHER. 

He  did  not  finisli  the  sentence,  for  Tom  knew  what  lie 
would  say,  and  wiping  both  sweat  and  tears  from  off  the 
worn  face,  looking  so  lovingly  at  him,  he  answered,  "  I 
iciU  try  to  be  a  better  man.  I  never  felt  the  need  of  it  so 
much  till  I  came  here,  and  Isaac,  I  am  going  to  stay 
till  you,  too,  are  exchanged.  Did  you  think  1  would 
desert  the  boy  who,  but  for  me,  would  not  have  been  a 
prisoner  ?" 

Isaac  did  not  reply;  only  the  soft,  blue  eyes  lighted  up 
with  sudden,  eager  joy  ;  the  lips  trembled  as  if  they 
would  speak,  there  was  a  perceptible  shudder,  and  then 
Tom  held  in  his  arms  a  fainting,  unconscious  form.  The 
revulsion  of  feehng  was  too  great,  and  for  many  minutes 
Isaac  gave  no  sign  of  hfe,  but  when  at  last  he  was  re- 
stored again,  he  tried  to  dissuade  Tom  from  making  so 
great  a  sacrifice,  but  all  in  vain.  Tom  silenced  every 
objection,  and  when  the  3d  of  January  came,  and  pris- 
oners were  released,  another  than  Tom  Carleton  answer- 
ed to  his  name,  and  marched  from  Eichmond  in  his 
stead. 

Tom  had  once  sjDent  several  months  in  Richmond,  and 
in  the  higher  cu'cles  he  numben  u  many  personal  friends, 
who,  until  quite  recently,  were  ignorant  of  the  fact  that 
he  was  a  prisoner  in  their  midst.  Of  these  the  more 
loyal  to  the  new  Confederacy  ignored  him  entirely. 
Others,  remembering  his  genial  humor,  and  quiet,  gen- 
tlemanly manner  which  had  won  their  admii'ation  for 
the  elegant  Bostonian  and  his  gentle  wife,  threw  their 
prejudice  aside,  and  respecting  him  because  he  had  stood 
firmly  by  his  own  State,  visited  him  in  his  prison,  while 
others  sent  playful  messages  that  though  they  denounced 
him  as  an  intruder  upon  their  rights,  they  owned  him  ag  a 
friend,  and  would  gladly  amehorate  his  condition.  To 
these  acquaintance  it  was  soon  known  how  gi'eat  a  sacri- 


THE  EICHMOND  CAPTIYES.  219 

fice  Tom  had  made  for  the  sake  of  a  young  boy,  and  the 
result  was  a  gradual  abatement  of  the  surveillance  held 
over  Tom,  while  many  privileges  hitherto  denied  by  the 
strict  jail  discipline,  were  accorded  to  him.  Isaac,  too, 
was  benefited  through  him,  and  more  than  one  fair  lady 
visited  the  invalid,  growing  strangely  interested  in  the 
gentle  "Yankee  boy,"  and  bringing  many  a  delicacy 
with  which  to  tempt  his  capricious  appetite.  But  no 
amount  of  kindness  could  win  him  back  to  health  so 
long  as  he  breathed  the  atmosphere  of  prison  walls.  To 
go  home  was  all  he  desired,  and  day  after  day  the  flesh 
shrivelled  from  his  bones,  and  the  blue  veins  stood  out 
round  and  full  upon  his  wasted  hands  until  there  came  a 
night  when  the  physician  told  the  jailer,  whom  he  met 
upon  the  stairs,  that  "  the  Yankee  boy  was  dying.'* 

There  were  not  many  now  in  prison,  and  ere  long  the 
sad  news  was  known  throughout  the  building,  causing 
the  riotous  ones  to  hush  their  noisy  revels,  and  tread 
softly  across  the  uncovered  floor,  lest  they  should  dis- 
turb the  sufferer  below.  The  jailer,  too,  remembering 
his  own  son,  afar  in  Southern  Tennessee,  wiped  a  tear 
from  his  rough  face,  and  drew  nearer  to  the  humble  cot 
where  Tom  sat  watching  the  panting  and  seemingly  dy- 
ing boy.  There  were  moments  of  feverish  dehrium, 
when  the  prison,  with  its  surrounding  horrors,  faded 
away,  and  Isaac  was  at  home,  bathing  his  burning  brow 
with  the  snow  covering  the  Northern  hills,  or  talking  to 
his  mother  of  all  that  had  transpired  since  the  April 
morning  when,  followed  by  her  prayers  and  tears,  he  left 
her  for  the  battle.  Then,  reason  came  back  again,  as  clear 
as  ever,  and  with  Tom  Carleton's  hand  pressed  between 
his  own  he  dictated  what  Tom  should  say  to  the  mother 
when  he  went  back  to  her  alone  and  left  her  boy  behind. 

"  I  shall  never  go  home  any  more,"  he  said,  "  and  I've 


220  ROSE  LtATHER. 

built  such  briglit  castles  about  it,  too,  fancying  how  nice 
it  would  seem  to  lie  on  mother's  soft,  warm  bed,  and 
watch  the  sun  shining  through  the  windows,  or  the  grass 
spiinging  by  the  door.  The  snow  will  melt  from  the 
garden  before  long,  and  the  flowers  I  used  to  tend  come " 
up  again,  but  I  shan't  be  there  to  see  them.  I  shall  be 
lying  here  so  quiet  and  no  stiU  that  I  shall  not  even  hear 
the  cannon's  roar,  or  the  loud  huzzahs  when  peace  is  at 
last  declared,  and  the  cruel  war  is  ended.  Oh,  if  aU  the 
dead  ones  could  know,  it  would  be  something  worth 
fighting  for,  but  when  the  troops  are  marching  home, 
and  the  beUs  ring  out  a  welcome,  there'U  be  many  a  one 
missing  in  the  ranks,  and  almost  evei-y  graveyard,  both 
North  and  South,  will  hold  a  soldier's  grave,  but  you 
will  not  forget  us,  ^yi[\  you  ?"  and  the  sunken  eyes  turned 
pleadingly  on  Tom.  "  When  the  bonfires  are  kindled  at 
the  North,  and  the  glad  rejoicings  are  made,  you  will 
think  of  the  poor  boys  who  fought  and  died  that  you 
might  enjoy  just  such  a  holiday  ?" 

Tom  could  only  answer  by  pressing  the  thin  hands  he 
held,  and  Isaac  continued: 

"  Tell  mother  not  to  fret  too  much  for  me.  I  guess 
she  did  love  me  best,  because  I  was  the  youngest,  but 
Eli  and  John  will  comfort  her  old  age.  Tell  them,  too, 
how  much  I  love  them,  and  how  proud  I  was  of  them 
that  day  at  Bull  Eun.  They  used  to  plague  me  some- 
times, and  call  me  a  girl  baby,  but  I've  forgiven  that,  for 
I  know  they  did  not  mean  it.  I  hope  they'll  both  be 
spared.  It  would  kill  mother  to  lose  us  all.  Tell  her 
how  I  bless  her.  for  the  lessons  of  my  childhood,  the 
■prayers  said  at  her  knee  before  I  knew  their  meaning, 
the  Sunday  School  she  sent  me  toi  and  the  Bible  stories 
told  in  the  winter  twihght.  Tell  her  I  was  not  afraid  to 
die,  only  I  wanted  her  so  much,  but  everybody's  been 


THE  RICHMOND     CAPTIYES.  221 

good.  There  are  kind  folks  here  in  Richmond,  and  God 
will  bless  them  for  it.  Oh,  Captain  Carleton,  I'm  a  poor, 
ignorant  boy,  and  you  a  proud,  rich  man,  but  you  will 
heed  me,  won't  you,  and  when  I'm  gone,  you'll  take  my 
little  Testament  and  read  it  every  day.  Read  it  first  for 
Isaac's  sake,  but  it  won't  be  long  before  you'll  read  it  for 
its  precious  truths,  and  you  will  come  to  Heaven  where 
we  can  meet  again — promise,  won't  you?" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  during  which  Tom 
choked  down  the  tears  he  could  scarcely  suppress,  so 
strongly  this  scene  reminded  him  of  another,  when  he 
sat  by  Mary's  side,  and  heard  her  dying  voice  urging 
him  to  meet  her.  Four  years  the  Southern  sun  had 
shone  upon  her  grave,  and  he  had  made  no  j)reparation 
yet,  but  now  he  would  put  it  off  no  longer,  and  bending 
over  Isaac,  he  replied: 

"I  promise;  and  if  you  see  my  darling  in  the  better 
land,  tell  her,  God  helping  me,  I'll  find  my  way  to  where 
she  has  gone." 

The  white  li]ps  feebly  murmured  their  thanks,  and  then 
suddenly  asked: 

"  Do  you  think  mother's  got  the  letter  you  sent,  and 
knows  how  sick  I  am  ?  If  so,  she's  praying  for  me  now, 
and  maybe  her  prayers  will  save.  I'm  not  afraid  to  die, 
but  if  I  could  go  home  to  Rockland  first,  it  would  not 
seem  so  bad.  Pray,  mother,  pray — pray,  pray  hard,"  and 
too  much  exhausted  to  talk  longer,  the  half-delirious  boy 
turned  upon  the  pillow  furnished  by  some  kind  lady,  and 
fell  into  a  heavy  sleep,  from  which  the  physician  said  he 
would  never  waken. 


Midnight  in  Richmond,   and  Tom,   counting  off  the 
strokes,  bent  lower  to  watch  for  the  expected  change. 


222  ROSE   MATHER. 

There  was  no  color  in  tlie  parted  lips,  and  about  tlie 
nose  there  "was  a  pinched,  contracted  look,  which  Tom 
remembered  to  have  seen  in  Mary's  face,  when  by  her 
bedside  he  had  sat,  just  as  he  sat  b}^  Isaac's,  but  where 
Mary's  hands  were  cold  and  dry  Isaac's  were  moist  and 
warm,  while  the  rapid  pulses  were  not  as  wiry,  and  irregu- 
lar as  hers  had  been.  There  was  hope,  and  falling  on  his 
knees,  Tom  Carleton  asked  that  the  Hfe  almost  gone  out 
might  be  restored,  and  promised  that  if  it  were  he  would 
not  forget  this  lesson  as  he  had  forgotten  the  one  learned 
by  Marj^'s  death-bed.  He  would  be  a  better  man,  he 
said,  and  God,  as  he  sometimes  does,  took  him  at  his 
word.  Gradually  the  sharp  expressian  passed  away,  the 
hair  grew  damp  with  a  more  healthful  moisture,  the 
pulses  were  slower,  the  breathing  more  regular,  and  when 
a  last  the  heavy  slumber  was  broken,  and  Isaac  looked  up 
again,  Tom  knew  that  he  would  live. 

There  was  a  murmured  prayer  of  thanksgiving,  a  re- 
newal of  his  pledge,  and  then  he  bent  every  energy  to 
sustain  the  Hfe  coming  so  slowly  back.  Softly  the 
morning  broke  over  the  prison  walls,  and  they  who  had 
expected  to  look  on  Isaac  dead,  rejoiced  to  hear  that  he 
was  better. 

*'  It  may  be  I  shall  see  mother  yet,"  he  whispered, 
faintly,  when  Tom  told  him  that  the  dreaded  crisis  was 
past ;  "  and  if  I  do,  I'll  tell  her  of  your  kindness." 

"Would  you  like  very  much  to  go  home  to  your 
mother  ?"  Tom  asked,  and  with  a  quivering  Hp  and  chin 
Isaac  answered; 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes,  if  I  only  could !  I  was  willing  to  die, 
but  I  guess  we  all  cling  to  life  at  the  last,  don't  you  ?" 

Tom  did  not  reply  to  this,  but  spoke  instead  of  ai-umor 
that  all  were  soon  to  be  dischai-ged  and  sent  back  to 
Washington.  '  • 


tom's  eeceftion.  223 

"  Well  go  together,  then,"  he  said,  "  you  and  I,  for  I 
shall  visit  Eockland  fii'st  and  see  my  sister  Eose." 

The  "irospect  of  release  was  meat  and  drink  for  Isaac, 
who  rallied  so  fast  that  when  the  joyful  news  of  an  ex- 
change did  co-me,  he  was  able,  with  Tom's  help,  to  walk 
across  the  floor  of  what  had  been  his  home  so  long. 

Haggard,  wasted,  weary,  and  worn  were  those  pris- 
oners as  they  filed  down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the 
streets,  but  with  each  moment  which  brought  them  nearer 
home,  their  spirits  rose,  and  when  at  last  they  stood  again 
on  Fedeyal  soil  and  saw  the  Stars  and  Stripes  waving  in 
the  morning  breeze,  long  and  deafening  were  the  huzzas 
which  rent  the  air  as  one  after  another  gave  vent  to  his 
great  joy  at  finding  himself  free  once  more.  Isaac,  how- 
ever, could  neither  shout,  nor  laugh,  nor  speak,  and  only 
the  large  eyes,  brimming  with  tears,  told  of  joy  unutter- 
able, but  when  arrived  at  Washington,  his  two  stalwart 
brothers  took  him  in  their  arms,  hugging  and  crying  over 
him  as  over  one  come  back  to  them  from  the  grave,  his 
calmness  all  gave  way,  and  laying  his  tired  head  on  EH's 
bosom,  while  John  held  and  caressed  his  wasted  hands, 
he  sobbed  out  the  happiness  too  great  to  be  expressed  in 
words.  To  him  a  full  discharge  from  service  was  readily 
accorded,  while  to  Tom  a  furlough  of  several  weeks  was 
gi^en,  and  after  a  few  days  at  Washington  both  started 
northward  to  join  the  fi'iends  waiting  so  impatiently  for 
their  arrivaL 


224  ROSE  MATHER. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

tom's    reception. 

'he  people  of  EocWand  had  become  somewhat  ac- 
customed to  the  "  Rebel  lion,"  as  thej  had  play- 

'^^''^  fully  called  Jimmie  Carleton,  and  the  latter  could 
now  go  quietly  through  the  streets  without  attracting  at- 
tentions which  at  first  had  be^n  vastly  disagreeable  to 
the  sensitive  young  man.  Gradually,  as  he  mingled  more 
with  the  people,  they  had  learned  to  like  him,  and  were 
fast  forgetting  that  he  had  ever  joined  the  ranks  of  the 
foe  and  struck  at  his  mother  country.  With  the  rabble 
who  had  met  him  at  the  depot  on  his  first  arrival  at  Rock- 
land he  was  vastly  popular,  for  forcing  down  his  pride,  he 
had  been  very  conciliatory  toward  them,  and  they  still  ad- 
hered to  their  olden  promise  of  making  him  their  next 
police  justice,  provided  he  would  consent  to  run. 

With  his  usual  impudence,  Bill  Baker  continued  to  an- 
noy the  proud  Bostonian  with  his  good-humored  fami- 
liarities, some  of  which  Jimmie  permitted,  while  others 
he  quietly  repulsed,  for  BiU's  constant  allusions  to  the 
past  were  exceedingly  disagreeable,  and  as  far  as  possi- 
ble he  avoided  his  quondam  associate,  who,  without  the 
least  suspicion  that  his  manner  was  disgusting  in  the  ex- 
treme, would  hail  him  across  the  street,  addressing  him 
always  as  "  Corp'ral,"  and  if  strangers  were  in  hearing, 
inviting  him  to  "caU  'round  and  see  a  fellar  once  in  a 
while  for  old  acquaintance  sake." 

At  the  Mather  mansion  matters  remained  about  the 
same  as  when  Jimraie  first  came  home.  Mrs.  Carleton 
was  still  there,  waiting  for  her  other  son,  and  Rose,  aa 


TOMS    RECEPTION.  225 

Usual,  was  ever  on  the  alert,  seeking  ways  and  means  by 

which  the  soldiers  might  be  benefited,  compelling   Jim- 

mie  to  be  interested  in  all  her  plans,  dragging  him  from 

place  to  place,  sending  him  on  errands;  and  once,  when 

in  a  great  hurry  to  get  a  box  in  readiness  for  the  hospitals 

at  Washington,  actually  coaxing  him  into  helping  tie  a 

comfortable,  which   was   put  up  in  her  back  parlor,  and 

which  she  "  must  send  immediately,  for  some  poor  fellow 

was  sure  to  need  it."     "  Jimmie  could  learn  to  tie  as  well 

as  herself,"  she  said,  when  he  pleaded  his  ignorance  as  an 

excuse  for  refusing  his  services.     "  She  didn't  know  how 

once,  but  Widow  Simms  and  Annie  had  tauglit  her  a 

heap,  and  Annie  would  teach  him,  too.     All  he  had  to  do 

was  to  put  the  big  darning  needle  through   twice,  tie  a 

weaver's  knot,  cut  it  ofi",  and  the  thing  was  done;  besides 

thai?,  'twas  a  real  j)retty  quilt,  made  from  Annie's  calico 

dress,  which  she  used  to  wear  last  summer  and  look  so 

sweetly  in.     Annie  was  tying  on  one  side  and   Jimmie 

must  tie  on  the  other;  he  needn't  be  so  lazy.     He  ought 

to  do  something  for  the  war." 

By  the  time  Rose  had  reached  the  last  points  in  her  ar- 
gument, Jimmie  had  closed  the  book  he  was  reading,  and 
concluded  that  there  might  be  duties  required  of  him  a 
gi-eat  deal  worse  than  tj'ing  a  soldier's  comfortable  with 
Annie  to  oversee !  It  was  strange  how  much  teaching 
he  needed,  and  how  often  Annie  was  called  to  the  rescue. 
The  needle  would  stick  so  in  the  cotton,  and  he  could 
not  remember  just  how  to  tie  that  knot.  So  Annie,  nev- 
er dreaming  that  he  knew  how  to  tie  the  knot  as  well  as 
she,  would  com.e  to  his  aid,  her  hands  sometimes  touch- 
ing his,  and  his  black  curls  occasionally  brushing  her  pale, 
brown  braids  as  he  bent  over  her  to  see  how  she  did  it, 
eo  as  to  know  himself  next  time !  There  was  a  world  of 
mischief  in  Jimmie's  saucy  eyes  as  he  demiu-ely  apolo- 


226  ROSE   MATHER. 

gized  to  Mrs.  Graliapi  for  the  trouble  lie  was  giving  lier,  but 
Annie  never  once  looked  up,  neither  did  the  color  deepen 
in  the  least  upon  her  cheek,  and  when  Jimmie,  on  pur- 
pose to  draw  her  out,  suggested  that  "he  was  more 
bother  than  help,"  she  answered  that  he  "had  better  re- 
turn to  his  reading,  as  she  could  get  on  quite  as  well 
alone." 

After  this,  Jimmie  thought  proper  to  learn  a  little 
faster,  and  soon  outstripped  his  teacher,  who  rewarded 
him  with  no  word  of  approval  save  a  cool  "  Thank  you," 
when  the  comfortable  was  done  and  taken  from  the 
awkward  frames.  And  this  was  a  fair  specimen  of  the 
natui'e  of  the  intercourse  existing  between  Jimmie  and 
Annie.  Secure  now  in  the  belief  that  she  would  never 
be  recognized  as  the  "  Pequot  of  New  London,"  Annie 
regarded  Jimmie  as  any  ordinary  stranger,  in  whom  she 
had  no  particular  interest,  save  that  which  her  kind 
heart  prompted  her  to  feel  for  all  mankind.  She  could 
not  dislike  him,  and  she  always  defended  him  from  the 
aspersions  of  the  widow,  who  could  not  quite  conquer 
her  repugnance  to  a  Kebel,  and  who  frequently  gave 
vent  to  her  ill-will  toward  Jimmie,  whom  she  thought  so 
proud. 

"  Stuck-up  ciitter !"  she  sAid,  "  struttin'  round  as  if 
he  was  good  as  anybody,  and  feelin*  above  his  betters. 
Of  coui'se  he  felt  above  her,  and  Susan,  and  Annie,  she 
knew  he  did;  and  if  she's  Annie  she  vummed  if  she'd 
stay  there,  and  be  looked  at  as  Jim  looked  at  her." 

Although  making  due  allowance  for  the  widow's  pre- 
judice, these  remarks  were  not  without  their  effect  upon 
Annie,  who,  imperceptibly  t6  herself,  began  to  feel  that 
probably  Jimmie  did  regard  her  as  merely  a  poor  de- 
pendent on  his  sister's  bounty,  and  she  unconsciously  as- 
sumed toward  him  a  cool  reserved  manner,  which  led  him 


tom's  eeception.  227 

fco  fancy  tliat  slie  entertained  for  liim  a  deep-rooted  pre- 
judice on  account  of  his  past  error.  Twenty  times  a 
day  he  said  to  himself  he  did  not  care  what  she  thought 
of  him,  and  as  many  times  a  day  he  knew  he  did  care 
much  more  than  was  at  all  conducive  to  his  peace  of 
mind.  ^\Tiere  this  caring  might  end  he  never  stopped 
to  consider.  He  only  felt  now  that  he  respected  the 
Quaker-lite  Annie  more  than  he  ever  respected  a  woman 
before,  and  coveted  her  good  oj)inion  more  earnestly  than 
he  ever  remembered  to  have  coveted  anything  in  his 
life,  unless,  indeed,  it  were  his  fi'eedom  when  a  prisoner 
in  Bill  Baker's  power. 

In  this  state  of  affaii's  it  required  all  Rose's  tact  to 
sustain  anything  like  sociability  between  her  brother 
and  Annie,  and  the  Httle  lady  was  perfectly  delighted 
when  the  ioyful  tidings  was  received  that  Tom  was  com- 
ing home.  Annie  would  like  Tom,  for  everybody  did  ;  be- 
sides, Tom  had  written  as  if  he  were  dmoat  a  good  man 
himself,  and  Annie  was  sure  to  be  pleased  with  that;  they, 
at  least,  would  be  fast  fiiends;  and  secure  on  this  point, 
■Rose,  with  her  usual  impulsiveness,  plunged  into  the  pre- 
parations for  Tom's  reception .  Even  Annie  did  not  think 
any  reasonable  honor  too  gTeat  for  him,  particularly  after 
Isaac  wrote  from  Washington  to  his  mother,  telling  her  of 
Tom's  generous  sacrifice,  and  how  he  might  have  been  home 
long  before  if  he  had  not  chosen  to  stay  a^d  care  for  a 
poor,  sick  boy.  How  the  widow's  heart  warmed  toward 
the  Carietons,  taking  the  whole  family  into  its  hitherto 
rather  hmited  dimensions.  Even  Jimmie  was  not  ex- 
cluded, the  widow  admitting  to  l^Irs.  Baker,  between 
whom  and  herself  there  had  been  many  a  hot  discussion 
houching  the  so-called  Rebel,  that  when  he  "laughed, 
*he  was  uncommon  handsome  for  a  Secessioner,"  and 


228  EOSE  MA.THEU. 

she  presumed  that  "  at  the  bottom  he  was  as  good  they 
would  averdge." 

But  if  the  widow  were  thus  affected  by  Tom's  kind 
act,  how  much  more  were  the  mother  and  sister  pleased 
to  know  how  noble  and  good  he  was,  while  Annie,  amid 
the  tears  she  could  not  repress,  said  to  Rose, 

"  You  should  be  proud  of  such  a  brother  !  There  are 
few  hke  him,  I  am  sure !" 

How  Jimmie  envied  Tom,  as  he  heard,  on  all  sides, 
praises  for  his  noble  unselfishness,  and  the  resolution 
to  welcome  him  and  Isaac  with  military  honors.  Once 
more  in  liis  element.  Bill  Baker  industriously  drilled 
his  clique,  who  were  to  answer  no  earthly  pm-pose  save 
to  swell  the  throng  and  prolong  the  deafening  cheers. 
Bill  began  to  feel  related  to  the  Carletons,  and  regularly 
each  day  he  called  at  the  Mather  mansion  to  keep  Rose 
posted  with  regard  to  the  progress  of  affairs.  *They  were 
to  bring  out  the  new  gun,  he  said,  and  as  it  was  minus  a 
name,  the  villagers  had  concluded  to  call  it  the  "  Thomas 
Carleton"  asking  "  how  she  thought  the  'Square  would 
like  it,  and  how  many  times  it  ought  to  be  fired.  The 
band  would  serenade  Tom  in  the  evening,"  he  said, 
"  and  toe  shall  have  bonfires  kindled  in  the  streets,"  talk- 
ing as  if  instead  of  being  merely  cannon-tender,  he  were 
head  manager  of  the  whole,  and  that  all  the -responsibil- 
ity was  resting  on  himself.  Rose  understood  him  per- 
fectly, and  with  the  utmost  good  nature  hstened  to  his 
suggestions,  and  scolded  Jimmie  for  calling  him  her 
prime  minister  and  confidant. 

From  the  cupola  of  the  Mather  mansion  the  Stars  and 
Stripes  were  to  be  hung  out,  and  on  the  morning  of  Tom's 
expected- arrival,  Jimmie  and  Annie  chmbed  the  winding 
stairs  and  fastened  the  staff  securely  to  its 'place.  There 
were  tears  in  Annie's  eyes  as  the  graceful  folds  shook 


TOM  S  RECEPTION.  229 

themselves  to  the  breeze,  for  slie  remembered  the  com- 
ing of  another  soldier  when  this  same  banner  was  wrapped 
around  a  coffin.  Across  the  valley  and  beyond  the  con- 
fines of  the  village  she  could  see  where  that  coffin  with 
its  loved  inmate  was  buried,  and  as  the  past  came  rush- 
ing over  her,  she  suddenly  gave  way,  and  sitting  down 
beneath  the  flag  wept  bitterly,  while  Jimmie,  with  a 
vagjie  idea  as  to  what  might  have  caused  her  tears,  stood 
looking  at  her,  wishing  he  could  comfort  her.  But 
what  should  he  say  ?  As  yet  they  had  scarcely  passed 
the  bounds  of  the  most  scrupulous  poHteness  to  each 
other,  and  for  him  to  attempt  to  comfort  her  seemed 
preposterous,  while  to  leave  her  without  a  word,  seemed 
equally  unkind.  Perhaps  it  was  the  beautiful  glossy 
braids  of  hair  which  brought  him  at  last  to  a  decision, 
causing  him  to  lay  his  hand  involuntarily  upon  the  bowed 
head,  while  he  said: 

"  I  am  son-y  for  you,  Mrs.  Graham,  for  I  know  how 
much  the  contrast  between  my  brother's  return  and  that 
of  your  husband  must  afi*ect  you,  and  gladly  would  I 
spare  you  the  pain,  if  I  could.  I  am  not  certain  but  the 
good  people  of  Rockland,  in  their  intended  kindness  to 
Tom,  are  doing  you  an  injury,  and  surely  Lieutenant 
Graham,  having  been  a  resident  of  this  place,  should 
receive  their  first  thought  with  all  pertaining  to  him." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  genuine  sympathy  which 
thrilled  in  every  tone  of  Jimmie's  voice,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment Annie  wept  more  passionately  than  before.  It  was 
the  first  time  he  had  ever  spoken  to  her  of  her  husband, 
find  his  words  touched  a  responsive  chord  at  once. 

"It  is  not  that  so  much,"  she  answered,  at  last.  ''I 
am  glad  they  are  honoring  your  brother  thus;  he  richly 
deserves  it  for  his  noble  adherence  to  his  country  in  her 
hour  of  peril,  and  for  his  generous  treatment  of  pooi 


230  LOSE   MATHER. 

Isaac  Simms.  I  would  do  much  myself  to  show  him  my 
respect;  but  oh,  George,  George,  lam  so  desolate  without 
him !"  and  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  Annie  wej)t 
again,  more  piteously  than  before. 

Here  was  a  point  which  Jimmio  could  not  touch,  and 
an  awkward  silence  ensued,  broken  at  last  by  Annie, 
who,  resuming  her  usual  calm  demeanor,  frankly  offered 
Jimmie  her  hand,  saying: 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Carleton,  for  your  sympathy.  It 
has  made  me  believe  you  are  my  fi-iend,  and  as  such  I 
would  rather  consider  you." 

"Your  fi-iend !  Did  you  ever  deem  me  other  than 
that?"  Jimmie  replied  in  some  surprise,  involuntarily 
pressing  the  little  hand  which  only  for  an  instant  rested 
LQ  his,  and  then  was  quietly  withdrawn  just  as  Rose  from 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  called  out  to  know  "  what  they 
were  doing  up  there  so  long." 

It  was  strange  how  differently  Jimmie  felt  after  this 
incident,  and  how  fast  his  spirits  rose.  The  few  words 
said  to  him  by  Annie  up  in  his  sister's  cupola  had  made 
him  very  happy,  for  he  felt  that  a  better  understanding 
existed  between  himself  and  Annie,  that  she  did  not  so 
thoroughly  despise  him  as  he  had  at  first  supjoosed,  and 
that  the  winning  her  respect  was  not  a  hopeless  task. 

As  early  as  two  the  crowd  began  to  gather  in  the 
streets,  and  half  an  hcur  later  Rose's  carriage,  with  Jim- 
mie in  it,  was  on  its  way  to  the  depot.  Mrs.  Carleton 
did  not  care  to  go,  and  so  Rose,  too,  remained  at  home, 
and  mounting  to  the  cupola,  watched  for  the  first  wreath 
of  smoke  which  should  herald  the  approach  of  the  train. 

"I  see  it, — he's  coming!"  she  screamed,  as  a  feathery 
mist  was  discernible  over  the  distant  plains,  and  in  a  few 
moments  more  the  cars  swept  round  the  curve,  while  a 


TOMS  EECEPTION.  281 

booming  gun.  told  that  Bill  Baker  was  faithful  to  his 
duty. 

There  was  a  swaying  to  and  fi'o  of  the  throng  at  the 
depot,  a  pushing  each  other  aside,  a  trilhng  of  fife,  a 
beating  of  diiims,  and  then  a  deafening  shout  went  up  as 
Tom  Carleton  and  John  Simras  appeared  upon  the  plat- 
form, carefully  supporting  the  tottering  steps  of  the 
weak,  excited  boy,  who  stood  between  them.  At  sight 
of  Isaac,  there  was  a  momentary  hush,  and  then,  with  a 
shriek  such  as  a  tigress  might  give  when  it  saw  its  young 
in  danger,  the  Widow  Simms  rushed  fi-antically  forward, 
and  catching  the  light  form  of  her  child  in  her  arms, 
tried  to  bear  him  through  the  crowd,  but  her  strength 
was  insufficient,  and  she  would  have  fallen  had  not  Jim- 
mie  relieved  her  of  her  burden,  which  he  sustained  with 
one  hand,  while  the  other  was  extended  to  welcome  the 
stranger  who  came  near. 

Half  bewildered,  Tom  looked  around  upon  the  multi- 
tude, asking  in  a  whisper  what  it  meant.  He  could  not 
think  they  had  come  to  welcome  him,  and  when  assui'ed 
by  Jimmie  that  such  was  the  fact,  his  lip  quivered  for  an 
instant,  and  his  tongue  refused  its  office.  Then,  in  a  few 
well-chosen  words,  he  thanked  the  people  for  the  unde- 
served surprise,  so  far  as  he  was  himself  concerned.  Isaac 
was  more  worthy  of  such  welcome,  he  said,  and  more  than 
half  of  it  was  meant,  he  knew,  for  their  townsman,  who 
had  shown  himself  equally  brave  in  camp,  in  battle,  and 
in  prison,  while,  had  they  known  that  Lieutenant  Simms, 
too,  was  coming,  he  was  sure  they  would  not  have 
thought  of  him  a  stranger  to  them  all. 

The  brief  speech  ended,  and  Eose,  hstening  at  home, 
clp.pped  her  hands  in  ecstasy  as  she  heard  the  terrific 
cheers  and  caught  the  name  of  "  Carleton"  mingled  with 
"  Isaac  Simms.'' 


282  ROSE  MATHER, 

"Poor  boy  !"  che  said,  "  I  wonder  how  lie'll  get  home  ? 
1  wish  I  had  told  Jimmie  to  drive  that  way,  and  take 
him  in  the  carriage." 

She  need  have  given  herself  no  uneasiness,  for  what 
she  had  forgotten  was  remembered  by  Jimmie,  who, 
after  a  hurried  consultation  with  Tom,  insisted  that  both 
Isaac  and  his  mother  should  take  seats  in  the  carriage, 
while  he  and  Tom  mingled  with  the  crowd. 

"  And  your  other  son,  there's  room  for  him,"  he  said, 
looking  round  in  quest  of  John,  who,  at  the  last  moment, 
had  obtained  permission  to  visit  his  bride,  and  so  came 
on  with  Isaac. 

At  a  glance  his  eye  had  singled  out  Susan,  and  the 
yoimg  couple  were  now  standing  apart  from  the  rest,  ex- 
changing mutual  caresses,  and  words  of  love,  the  tall 
lieutenant  kissing  fondly  the  blushing  gu'l  who  could 
not  realize  that  she  stood  in  the  presence  of  her  hus- 
band. After  a  little  it  was  decided  that  Tom  and  Jim- 
mie, Mrs.  Simms  and  Isaac,  should  occupy  the  carriage, 
while  John  and  Susan  walked,  and  so  from  her  lofty 
stand-point,  Rose  watched  the  long  procession  winding 
down  the  streets,  amid  the  strains  of  music  and  the  can- 
non's bellowing  roar.  It  was  very  exciting  to  Isaac,  and 
by  the  time  the  cottage  was  reached  he  was  glad  to  be 
lifted  out  by  Jimmie,  who  bore  the  tired  boy  tenderly 
into  the  house  and  laid  him  down  on  the  soft,  warm  bed 
he  had  dreamed  about  so  many  nights  in  the  dark,  filthy 
prison  corner.  How  faint  and  weak  he  was,  and  how 
glad  to  be  home  again !  Winding  his  arms  around  his 
mother's  neck,  he  sobbed  out  his  great  joy,  sapng  amid 
his  tears,  "  God  was  so  kind  to  let  me  come  back  to 
you." 

It  was  a  very  happy  group  the  villagers  left  behind  in 


233 

that  humble  cottage,  and  neither  John  nor  Susan  thought 
it  out  of  place  when  the  mother  called  on  them  to  kneel 
"with  her  and  thank  the  Giver  of  all  good  for  his  gxeat 
mercy  in  granting  them  this  blessing. 

Meantime  the  procession  passed  on  until  it  reached 
the  Mather  mansion,  where,  with  three  cheers  for  Cap- 
tain Carleton,  the  crowd  dispersed,  leaving  Tom  at  Hb- 
erty  to  join  the  mother  and  sister  waiting  so  impatiently 
for  him,  one  on  the  steps,  and  the  other  in  the  parlor, 
just  where  she  had  welcomed  Jimmie. 

"If  WiU  were  only  here,  it  would  be  the  happiest  day 
I  ever  knew,"  Eose  said,  as,  seating  herself  on  Tom's  knee 
with  her  chubby  arm  around  his  neck,  she  asked  him 
numerous  questions  concerning  her  absent  husband. 
Then,  as  she  saw  in  him  signs  of  weariness  she  said,  "  You 
are  tired,  I  know.  "  Suppose  you  go  to  your  room  till  din- 
ner-time. It's  the  one  right  at  the  head  of  the  stairs," 
she  continued,  and  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  rest,  Tom 
went  to  the  room  where  Annie  Graham  just  then  chanced 
to  bo.  She  had  discovered  that  the  servant  had  neglected 
to  supply  the  rack  with  towels,  and  so  she  had  brought  them 
herself,  lingering  a  moment  after  they  were  arranged,  to 
see  if  everything  were  in  order.  She  did  not  hear  Tom's 
step,  until  he  opened  the  door  upon  her,  and  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  surprise  and  apology.  He  had  no  idea 
who  the  little  black  robed  figure  was,  for  though  he  knew 
the  wife  of  George  Graham  was  an  inmate  of  his  sister's 
family,  he  had  her  in  his  mind  as  a  very  different  person 
fi-om  this  one  before  him.  IVIrs.  Graham  was  young,  he 
supposed,  and  possibly  good  looking,  but  she  did  not 
bear  the  stamp  of  refinement  and  elegance  which  this 
graceful  creature  did,  and  fancying  he  had  made  a  mis- 
take and  stumbled  into  the  apartment  of  some  city  visi- 


234  BOSE  MATHER. 

tor,  he  was  about  to  withdraw,  when  Annie  came  toward 
him,  sajTng: 

"Excuse  me,  sir,  I  came  in  to  see  that  all  was  right  in 
your  rooln.     ;Mi\  Carleton,  I  presume  ?" 

This  last  Annie  spoke  doubtingly,  for  in  the  tall,  hand- 
some stranger  before  her  there  was  scarcely  a  vestige  of 
the  "greyish  haired,  oldish,  fatherly-looking  man"  she 
had  in  fancy  known  as  Captain  Carleton,  and  but  for  the 
eyes,  so  much  like  Mrs.  Mather's,  and  the  unmistakable 
Carleton  curve  about  the  mouth,  she  would  never  have 
dreamed  that  it  was  Tom  to  whom  she  was  speaking.  As 
it  was,  she  waited  for  him  to  confirm  her  suspicions, 
which  he  did  by  bowing  in  the  affirmative  to  herinteiTO- 
gation,  "  IVIr.  Carleton,  I  presume  ?" 

Then  holding  the  door  for  her  to  pass  out,  he  stood 
watching  her  till  she  disappeared  at  the  extreme  end  of 
the  hall,  wondering  who  she  was,  and  why  a  mere  visitor 
should  take  so  much  interest  in  his  room.  Once  he 
thought  of  Annie  Graham ;  but  this  could  not  be  a  wid- 
ow, though  the  deep  mourning  di'ess  told  of  recent  be- 
reavement. Still  Annie  Graham  was  a  different  person- 
age, he  knew;  and  thus  perjDlexed,  Tom,  instead  of  rest- 
ing, commenced  his  toilet  for  dinner,  determining,  as  soon 
as  it  was  completed,  to  go  down  and  have  the  mystery 
unravelled. 

Restless  and  impatient  to  know  just  what  his  brother 
thought  of  his  late  treachery  to  the  Federal  Flag,  Jimmie 
paced  the  parlors  below  until  he  could  wait  no  longer, 
and  knowing  by  the  sounds  which  came  from  the  cham- 
ber above,  that  Tom  was  not  trying  to  sleep,  he  finally 
ran  up  the  stairs,  and  knocking  at  the  chamber  door,  was 
soon  closeted  with  Tom.  It  was  an  awkward  business 
to  speak  of  the  past,  but  Jimmie  plunged  into  it  at  once, 
stating   some  reasons  which  had  led  him  to  abjure  his 


tom's  KECEPnoN.  235 

own  govemirent,  expressing  his  contrition  for  having  done 
so,  and  ending  by  saying  he  hoped  Tom,  if  possible,  would 
forget  that  he  ever  had  a  rebel  brother. 

It  had  taken  Tom  a  long  time  to  recover  from  the 
shock  of  meeting  his  brother  in  the  Virginia  woods,  and 
knowing  he  was  a  traitor  to  his  country,  but  the  same 
generous  feeling  which  led  him  to  refrain  fi*om  any  allu- 
sion to  that  meeting  in  the  messages  sent  to  his  mother 
and  sister  from  his  Richmond  prison,  now  prompted  him 
to  treat  with  kind  forbearance  the  brother  whom  he  had 
loved  and  grieved  over  since  the  days  of  his  mischievous 
boyhood. 

"  I  should  have  found  it  very  hard  to  forgive  you  if 
you  had  staid  in  the  Southern  army,"  he  said,  "  but  as 
it  is  we  will  never  ruention  the  subject  again." 

Jimmie  knew,  by  the  warm  pressure  of  Tom's  hand,  that 
he  was  forgiven,  and  with  a  burden  lifted  from  his  mind 
he  was  about  leaving  the  room,  when  Tom,  with  a  pre- 
liminary cough,  said: 

"  By  the  way,  Jimmie,  who  has  Eose  got  here, — what 
visitor,  I  mean  ?"  and  Tom  tried  to  look  vastly  indiffer- 
ent as  he  buttoned  his  vest  and  hung  across  it  the  chain 
made  from  Mary's  hair. 

But  the  ruse  did  not  succeed.  Jimmie  knew  he  had 
seen  Annie,  and  with  a  sudden  uprising  of  something  un- 
defined he  answered  in  apparent  sui-prise : 

."Visitor!  what  visitor!  He  must  have  come  to-day, 
then.     "W'here  did  you  see  him  ?" 

"  I  saw  her  in  here,"  Tom  replied,  and  Jimmie  laugh- 
ingly rejoined : 

"  A  pretty  place  for  a  her  ld  your  quarters !  Pray,  what 
was  she  like  ?" 

"  Some  like  Mary,  as  she  used  to  be  when  I  first  knew 
her, — a  httle  body  dressed  in  black.'* 


236  KOSE   MATHT2R. 

"  With  large,  handsome,  blue  eyes  ?"  interrupted  Jim- 
mie,  while  Tom,  without  siisj)fecting  that  his  brother's 
object  was  to  ascertain  how  closoly  he  had  observed  the 
figure  in  black,  rephed: 

"  Yes,  very  handsome,  dreamy  eyes." 

"And  pale,  brown  curls?"  was  the  teasing  Jimmie's 
next  query,  to  which  Tom  quickly  responded: 

"  Curls,  no.  The  hair  was  braided  in  w*ide  plats  and 
twisted  around  the  head,  falling  low  in  the  neck." 

"  Not  a  very  white  neck,  was  it  ?"  Jimmie  continued, 
with  impei-turbable  gi'avity. 

"  Indeed,  it  was,"  Tom  said,  industriously  scrapihg  his 
thumb  nail  with  his  penknife.  "White  as  snow,  or 
looked  so  fi'om  the  contrast  with  her  di-esfi.  Who  is 
she?" 

"  One  question  more, — had  she  big  feet  or  little,  sHp- 
pers  or  boots  ?"  and  this  time  Jimmie's  voice  betrayed 
him. 

Tom  knew  he  was  being  teased,  and  bursting  into  a 
laugh,  he  answered: 

"I  confess  to  having  observed  her  closely,  but  not 
enough  so  to  tell  the  size  of  her  shpper.  Come  now,  who 
is  she  ?  Some  lady  you  spirited  away  fi'om  Secession- 
dom  ?  Tell  me, — you  know  you've  nothing  to  fear  from 
steady  old  Tom." 

For  an  instant  the  eyes  of  the  two  brothers  met,  with 
a  ciu*ious  expression  in  each.  Both  were  conscious  of 
something  they  were  trying  to  conceal,  while  a  feel- 
ing akin  to  a  pang  shot  through  Jimmie's  heart  as  he 
thought  how  much  more  worthy  of  Annie  Graham's  re- 
spect was  steady  old  Tom  than  a  rollicking  young  scape- 
grace hke  himself. 

"From  your  rather  minute  description  I  think  you 
must  have  stumbled  upon  the   Widow  Graham"  he  said 


Tom's  EECEpnoN".  237 

•'Rose  has  taken  lier  up,  you  know,  and  as  a  word  of 
brotherly  advice,  let  me  say  that  if  you  wish  to  raise  Eose 
to  the  seventh  heaven  you  have  only  to  praise  her  pro- 
tegee. We,  that  is  the  widow  and  I,  do  not  get  on  very 
well,  for  she  is  a  staunch  patriot,  and  until  this  morning 
I  verily  beheve  she  looked  on  me  as  a  kind  of  monster. 
She's  a  perfect  httle  Puritan,  too,  and  if  she  stays  here 
long,  will  make  a  straight-laced  Methodist  of  Rose, 
under  the  garb  of  an  Episcopalian,  of  coiu'se,  as  she 
is  the  strictest  kind  of  a  church  woman." 

"I  shall  not  esteem  her  less  for  that,"  Tom  said, 
and  in  rather  a  perturbed  state  of  mind,  as  far  as 
the  Widow  Graham  was  concerned,  he  went  with  Jim- 
mie  to  the  parlor,  half  hoping  his  brother  had  mischiev- 
ously misled  him,  and  that  the  stranger  would  prove  after 
all  to  be  some  visitor  from  Boston. 

But  the  first  object  he  saw  on  entering  the  parlor  was 
the  dainty  figure  in  black,  standing  by  the  window,  and 
on  the  third  finger  of  the  hand  raised  to  adjust  the  heavy 
cm^tain  ghttered  the  wedding  ring.  Tom  knew  now  that 
Jimmie  had  not  deceived  him,  and  with  a  feeling  of  dis- 
appointment he  addressed  3Irs.  Graham,  when  introduc- 
ed by  Jimmie,  making  some  playful  allusion  to  their  hav- 
ing met  before,  but  saying  nothing  to  her  then  of  George, 
for  remembering  his  own  feehngs  when  Mary  died,  he 
knew  that  Annie  would  not  thank  him,  a  stranger,  to 
bring  up  sad  memories  of  the  past  by  talking  of  her  hus- 
band. Still,  in  his  manner  toward  her  there  was  some- 
thing which  told  how  he  pitied  and  sympathized  with 
her,  and  Annie,  grateful  always  for  the  smallest  kindness, 
threw  off  her  air  of  quiet  reserve  and  talked  with  him 
fi-eely,  asking  many  questions  concerning  Isaac  Simma 
and  the  condition    of   the  Richmond  prisoners  generally. 

"  She  was  going  round  after  dinner  to  call  on  Isaac,* 


238  ROSE  MATHEB. 

she  incidentally  said,  whereupon  Tom  rejoined  that  wish- 
ing to  know  how  Isaac  bore  the  journey  and  the  excite- 
ment, he  had  intended  going  there  himself,  and  would, 
with  her  permission,  time  his  visit  to  suit  her  conven- 
ience, and  so  accompany  her. 

Instantly  Jimmie's  black  eyes  flashed  upon  Annie  a  Icok 
of  inquiry,  which  brought  the  bright  color  to  her  cheeks, 
for  she  knew  he  was  thinking  of  the  night  when  she  had 
refused  his  escort,  and  she  felt  her  present  position  a  rather 
embarrassing  one.  Still  the  ciixumstances  were  entirely 
differ'ent.  There  was  a  reason  why  Tom  should  call  on 
Widow  Simms,  while  with  Jimmie  there  was  none,  and 
bowing  to  Captain  Carleton,  she  replied  that  "  she  pre- 
sumed Mrs.  Simms  would  be  glad  of  an  opportunity  to 
thank  him  for  his  kindness  to  Isaac,  and  that,  though 
not  in  the  least  afraid  to  go  alone,  she  had  no  objection 
to  showing  him  the  way." 

"What!  going  off  the  first  night,  and  they  are  coming 
to  serenade  you,  too?  You  must  not  go,  Tom.  Shall 
he,  mother  ?"  cried  Kose,  who  at  first  had  been  too  busy 
with  her  duties  as  hostess,  clearly  to  comprehend  what 
Tom  was  saying  to  Annie. 

"  It  will  look  as  if  you  do  not  appreciate  the  people's 
attention,"  JNIrs.  Carleton  replied,  while  Jimmie  vehement- 
ly protested  against  the  impropriety  of  the  act,  and  so 
Tom  was  compelled  to  yield,  thinking  the  while  that  a 
walk  to  the  Widow  Simms'  might  possibly  afford  him  quite 
as  much  satisfaction  as  staying  at  home  for  a  serenade. 

"  I  always  surrender  to  the  majority,"  he  said,  playful- 
ly, while  Jimmie's  spirits  rose  perceptibly,  and  Annie  had 
never  before  seen  him  so  witty  or  gay  since  he  came  home 
from  Washington  as  he  was  during  the  dinner. 

It  was  joy  at  his  brother's  retui-n,  she  thought,  never 
suspecting  that  Tom's  decision  had  anything  to  do  with 


tom's  reception.  239 

it,  and  Jimrnie  hardly  knew  himself  that  it  had.  He  only 
felt  reheved  that  Tom  was  not  to  receive  a  favor  which 
had  once  been  denied  to  himself,  and  glad  also  that  An- 
nie was  to  spend  the  evening  with  them.  But  in  this  hc- 
was  mistaken.  There  was  no  necessity  for  Annie's  defer- 
ring her  visit.  The  serenade  was  not  for  her,  and  with 
that  nice  sense  of  propriety  which  prompted  her  to  shrink 
from  anything  Hke  intrusion,  she  felt  that  on  this  first 
night  of  their  reunion,  the  Carleton  family  would  rather 
be  alone.  This  rule  would  apply  also  to  jVIrs.  Simms,  but 
Annie  knew  she  was  always  welcome  to  the  widow,  and 
wishing  to  see  the  boy  who  had  led  her  husband  fi*om  the 
battlefield,  she  went  to  her  room,  and  throwing  on  her 
cloak  and  hood,  stole  quietly  down  stairs  just  as  Jimmie 
was  crossing  the  hall.  He  guessed  where  she  was  going, 
and  coming  quickly  to  her  side,  said, 

"  I  supposed  you  had  given  up  that  call,  but  if  you  per- 
v^ist  in  going,  it  must  not  be  alone,  this  night  of  all  others, 
when  the  streets  are  Hkely  to  be  full  of  men  and  boys. 
You  accepted  my  brother's  escort,  you  cannot,  of  course, 
refuse  mine,"  and  seizing  his  hat  from  the  hall  stand  he 
led  her  out  upon  the  steps  and  placed  her  arm  in  his  with 
an  air  of  so  much  authority  that  Annie  had  no  word  to 
offer  in  remonstrance. 

It  was  not  a  very  comfortable  walk  to  either  party,  or 
a  very  sociable  one  either,  but  ere  it  was  ended  Annie 
had  reason  to  be  glad  that  she  was  not  alone,  for  as 
Jimmie  had  predicted,  the  streets  were  full  of  men  and 
boys,  following  the  band  up  to  the  Mather  Mansion,  and 
as  they  met  group  after  group  of  the  noisy  throng,  Annie 
timidly  drew  closer  to  her  companion,  who  pressed  more 
tightly  the  arm  trembling  in  his  own. 

"  I  am  glad  you  came  with  me,"  she  said,  when  at  last 
the  friendly  gleam  of  the   widow's  candle  appeared    in 


240  ROSE  MATHER. 

Tiew,  "  but  if  you  please  I  tliiiik  you  had  better  not  go  in 
to-night.  You  are  so  much  a  stranger  to  the  family,  and 
Mrs.  Simms'  boys  have  but  just  returned.  John  will  see 
me  safely  home,  and  I'll  excuse  you  now.  You  must  feel 
anxious  to  rejoin  your  brother." 

But  Jimmie  was  not  to  be  disposed  of  so  easily.  He 
had  no  intention  of  entering  the  house,  but  he  should 
wait  outside,  he  said,  until  Annie's  visit  was  over.  Annie 
had  no  alternative  save  submission,  and  'parting  from 
Jimmie  at  the  gate,  she  hurried  up  the  walk  and  was  soon 
bending  over  the  couch  of  the  sick  boy,  whose  eyes  beam- 
ed the  welcome  his  pale  hps  could  scarcely  speak.  How 
many  questions  she  had  to  ask  him,  and  how  much  he 
had  to  tell  her  of  that  day  when  her  husband  received 
his  fatal  wound.  Altogether  it  was  a  sad  interview,  and 
Annie's  eyes  were  nearly  blistered  with  the  hot  tears  she 
shed  while  listening  to  Isaac's  touching  account  of  George 
ere  the  woods  were  gained,  and  Tom  Carleton  generously 
gave  up  his  seat  to  the  bleeding  man,  thereby  becoming 
himself  a  prisoner.  Much,  too,  was  said  in  praise  of  Tom, 
and  Annie  felt  that  she  could  not  do  too  much  for  one 
who  had  shown  himself  so  generous  and  brave.  Talking  of 
Tom  reminded  her  of  Jimmie  stalking  up  and  down  the 
icy  walks,  waiting  patiently  for  her,  and  when  at  last  the 
music  of  Tom's  serenade  had  ceased  she  arose  to  go, 
wishing  to  get  away  ere  the  band  came  there,  as  she  knew 
they  were  intending  to  do.  As  John  arose  to  accompany 
her,  she  had  to  say  that "  Jimmie  Carleton  was  waiting 
for  her  by  the  gate."  Instantly  the  sharp  eyes  of  the 
widow  shot  at  her  a  curious  glance,  which  brought  the 
hot  blood  to  her  cheek,  while  John  and  Susan  exchanged 
a  smile,  the  meaning  of  which  she  could  not  fail  to  under- 
stand. Poor  Annie  !  How  her  heart  throbbed  with  pain  as 
she  guessed  of  what  they  were  thinking !  Could  they  for  a 


241 

moment  believe  her  so  heartless  and  cold  ?  The  mere  idea 
made  her  dizzy  and  faint,  and  scarcely  articulating  her 
good-night,  she  hastened  out  into  the  cool  night  air,  feel- 
ing half  tempted  to  refuse  outright  the  arm  ojffered 
for  her  support.  If  she  only  dared  tell  him  to  leave  her 
there  alone, — ^leave  her  to  flee  away  through  the  dark, 
lonely  streets  to  the  still  more  lonely  yard,  where  on 
George's  grave  she  could  lay  herself  down  and  die.  But 
not  thus  easily  could  life's  heavy  burden  be  shaken  off ; 
she  could  not  lay  it  down  at  will, — and  conquering  the 
emotions  which,  each  time  she  thought  of  John  Simms' 
significant  smile,  threatened  to  burst  out  into  a  fierce 
storm  of  passionate  sobs,  she  apologized  for  having  kept 
Jimmie  waiting  so  long,  and  taking  his  arm  left  the  cot- 
tage gate  just  as  the  throng  of  serenaders  turned  into  that 
street.  Jimmie  knew  she  had  been  crying,  and  conjec- 
turing that  she  had  been  talking  of  her  husband,  he,  too, 
began  to  speak  of  George,  asking  her  many  questions 
about  him,  and  repeating  many  things  he  had  heard  in  his 
praise  from  the  Eockland  citizens.  It  seemed  strange 
that  this  should  comfort  her,  but  it  did.  The  hard,  bitter 
feeling  insensibly  passed  away  while  hstening  to  Jimmie, 
and  by  the  time  the  Mather  Mansion  was  reached  the 
tears  were  dried  on  Annie's  cheeks,  and  outwardly  she 
was  cheerful  and  patient  as  ever. 

After  that  night  Hose  had  no  cause  for  complaint  that 
Jimmie  was  rude  to  Annie,  or  Annie  cool  toward  him, 
for  though  Annie  talked  to  him  but  Httle,  she  did  not  for 
get  the  sympathy  so  delicately  manifested  for  her,  and 
treated  him  with  as  much  respect  as  she  awarded  Tom, 
who  grew  each  day  more  and  more  interested  in  the 
black-robed  figure,  reminding  him  so  much  of  his  lost 
Mary.  Jimmie  knew  he  did,  and  watched  narrowly  for 
the  time  when  she  would  know  it,  too  ;  but  such  time 
11 


242  EOSE   MATHER. 

did  not  come,  for  Annie  had  no  suspicion  that  either  of 
the  brothers  regarded  her  with  the  shadow  of  a  feehng 
save  that  of  ordinary  friendship.  As  much  of  her  time 
as  possible  was  spent  with  the  Widow  Simms,  and  a  great 
part  of  Isaac's  yisible  improvement  was  owing  to  her 
gentle  care  and  the  sunshine  of  her  presence.  John's 
furlough  had  expired,  and  now  that  he  was  gone,  the  dis- 
consolate Susan  turned  to  Annie  for  comfort,  while  Isaac 
"watched  daily  for  the  sound  of  the  little  feet  coming  up 
the  walk,  and  bringing  ivith  them  so  much  happiness  to 
the  lonely  cottage. 

"  I  wish  you'd  stay  home  more  ;  we  miss  you  so  much, 
and  it's  so  dismal  without  you.  Mother  nods  over 
her  knitting,  Tom  just  walks  the  floor,  or  reads  some 
stiff  Presbyterian  book,  while  Jimmie  tlirums  the  piano 
and  teases  my  kitten  awfully,"  Rose  said  to  Annie  one 
night  when  the  latter  came  in  from  a  tour  of  calls,  the 
last  of  which  had  been  on  l^lrs.  Baker,  uow  a  much  hap- 
pier, better  woman,  than  when  we  first  made  her  ac- 
quaintance. "  It's  so  different  when  you  are  here,"  Rose 
continued,  as  Annie  came  and  sat  dowTi  by  her  side. 
"  Tom  is  a  heap  more  entertaining,  while  Jimmie  is  not 
half  so  mischievous  and  provoking." 

"I  did  not  supppse  my  absence  could  affect  your  hap- 
piness, or  I  would  certainly  have  staid  with  you  more," 
Annie  replied  ;  and  Rose  continued  : 

"Well,  it  just  does,  and  now  that  both  Tom  and  Jimmie 
are  going  so  soon,  I  shall  need  you  to  oversee  the  things 
I  must  get  ready  for  them." 

"Captain  Carleton  and  Jimmie  going  away  soon!" 
Annie  repeated,  in  some  surprise.  "  Where  are  they 
going  ?     The  Captain's  furlough  has  not  yet  expired." 

"  I  know  it,"  Rose  continued,  "  but  as  he  is  perfectly 


TOM*S   RECEPTION.  243 

well,  he  thinks  it  right  to  go  back,  and  has  fixed  on  one 
week  from  to-day." 

"Yes,  but  Jimmie.  You  spoke  of  his  leaving,  too," 
Annie  said,  and  Rose  rejoined: 

"  Jimmie  is  going  with  Tom  to  join  the  Federal  Army 
on  the  Potomac,  and,  as  he  says,  retrieve,  if  possible,  the 
character  he  lost  by  turning  traitor  once." 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  !  and  I  like  him  so  much  for  that !" 
Annie  exclaimed,  her  white  face  lighting  up  with  a  sud- 
den animation,  which  made  it  seem  very  beautiful  to  the 
young  man  just  entering  the  door. 

"  I  would  brave  the  cannon's  mouth  for  another  look 
like  that,"  was  Jimmie's  mental  comment  as  he  stepped 
into  the  room,  and  advanced  to  the  ladies'  side.  "  So 
you  are  glad  I  am  going  ?"  he  said,  half  playfully,  to  An- 
nie, who  answered  frankly: 

"  Yes,  very  glad.  " 

"And  won't  you  miss  me  a  bit?  Folks  like  to  be 
missed,  you  know,  if  they  are  ever  so  bad.  It  makes  one 
think  better  of  himself,  and  consequently  do  better  if  he 
know^s  that  his  absence  will  cause  a  feeling  of  regret,  how- 
ever slight,  to  the  friends  left  behind,"  Jimmie  remarked, 
while  in  his  eyes  there  was  a  peculiar  expression  which 
Annie  failed  to  see,  as  he  stood  looking  down  upon  her. 
^She  would  miss  Jimmie,  she  knew,  for  she  had  become 
accustomed  to  his  merry  whistle,  his  ringing  laugh,  his 
teasing  jokes  at  Rose's  expense,  and  his  goiag  would 
leave  them  very  lonely,  and  so  she  frankly  admitted, 
adding  that  "  it  was  not  because  she  wished  to  be  rid  of 
him  that  she  was  glad;  it  pleased  her  to  see  him  in  the 
path  of  duty,  even  though  that  path  led  to  danger  and 
possible  death." 

"Oh,  don't,  Annie,  don't  talk  of  death  to  Jimmie!" 
Rose  cried,  with  a  shudder.     "  You  can't  begin  to  guess 


244  ROSE   MATHER. 

how  it  makes  me  feel,  or  how  terrible  it  would  seem  if 
either  he  or  Tom  should  die  !" 

"  Can't  I  ?"  Annie  asked,  with  such  a  depth  of  mourn- 
ful pathos,  that  Rose's  tears  flowed  at  once. 

Of  course  Annie  knew  how  it  felt,  and  every  fibre  of 
Ler  heart  was  bleeding  now,  as  she  remembered  one  who 
left  her  as  full  of  life  and  hope  as  either  Tom  or  Jimmie, 
but  who  came  back  no  more,  save  as  the  dead  come  back, 
shrouded  and  coffined  for  the  grave.  But  Annie  would 
not  give  way  to  her  own  feehngs  then.  She  would  com- 
fort Rose,  and  encourage  the  young  man,  who,  she  felt, 
shrank  from  the  perils  spread  out  before  him.  So  she 
told  how  few  there  were,  comparatively,  who  died  on  the 
battle-field,  while  the  chances  for  life  in  the  hospitals  were 
greater  now  that  better  care  and  skill  had  been  pro- 
cured. 

*'  Annie, — excuse  me,  Mrs.  Graham  ?"  and  Jimmie  spoke 
vehemently,  while  his  eyes  kindled  with  a  strange  gleam. 
"  Why  don't  you  go  as  nurse  ?  You  might  be  the  means 
of  untold  good  to  the  poor  fellows  who  need  such  care  as 
you  could  give." 

"  I  have  thought  of  it,"  said  Annie,  while  Rose  ex- 
claimed: 

"  You  turn  hospital  nurse, — ridiculous!  You  never 
shall,  so  long  as  I  can  prevent  it.  Shall  she,  Tom?" 
And  she  appealed  to  the  latter,  who  had  just  come  in. 
"  Shall  Annie  go  into  those  horrid  hospitals  ?" 

"  I  am  not  ]\Irs.  Graham's  keeper,"  Tom  replied,  "  but 
I  should  be  sorry  to  see  her  acting  in  the  capacity  of 
hospital  nui'se,  even  though  I  know  that  some  of  our 
noblest,  best  women  are  engaged  in  that  work." 

"  Yes,  old  chap,"  and  Jimmie  laughed  a  merry  laugh. 
*'  It's  mighty  easy  talking  that  way  now,  but  suppose  you. 
Captain   Carleton,   are    some    day   among  the   terribly 


245 

■wounded,  thigli  shot  througli,  arm  splintered  above  the 
elbow,  jaw-bone  broken,  and  all  that,  wouldn't  the  pain 
be  easier  to  bear,  if  the  nui'se  should  happen  to  be  Mrs. 
Graham,  or  somebody  just  like  her  ?" 

"Undoubtedly  it  would,"  Tom  answered.  Still  I 
should  be  sorry  to  have  her  there  amid  the  sickening 
horrors." 

"  Please  stop,  I  can't  bear  to  hear  about  it !"  Kose  ex- 
claimed. "I  know  it  would  be  nice  to  be  a  Florence 
Nightingale,  and  Annie  would  make  a  splendid  one,  but 
111  never  let  her  go,  unless  you,  or  Jimmie,  or  Will  are 
wounded,  and  then  we'U  come  together,  won't  we, 
Annie  ?" 

There  was  no  response  from  Annie,  until  Jimmie 
said: 

"  Say,  Mrs.  Graham,  if  I  am  ever  wounded,  and  you 
hear  I  am  suffering  in  some  dismal  hole,  will  you  come 
and  care  for  me  ?" 

He  did  not  join  Will's  or  Tom's  name  vdth  his  own. 
It  was  "Jimmie  Carleton"  whom  Annie  was  to  nurse. 
But  it  did  not  matter.  Lifting  up  her  head  so  that  her 
soft,  blue  eyes  looked  into  his,  Annie  answered,  unhesi- 
tatingly: 

"Providence  permitting,  I  will,  and  I  would  do  the 
same  for  any  brave  fellow  who  follows,  as  my  husband 
did,  where  duty  to  his  country  leads." 

"  So  you  see  you  will  fare  no  better  than  I,  after  all," 
Tom  laughingly  rejoined,  while  Jimmie  thought  within 
himself: 

"  Why  need  she  always  bring  that  husband  in  ?  It's 
bad  enough  to  know  she's  had  one,  without  eternally 
hearing  about  him." 

FooHsh  Jimmie.  It  was  foUy  for  him  to  lie  awake  so 
long  as  he  did  that  night,  or  to  dream,  when  at  last  he 


246  ROSE  MATHER 

slept,  of  hospital  walls  expanding  into  a  palace  as  an 
angel  form  with  hair  and  eyes  like  Annie's  bent  over  his 
feverish  pillow,  while  soft,  white  hands  dressed  some 
gaping  wound  where  the  enemy's  bullet  had  been.  Sheer 
folly,  too,  was  it  for  "dignified  old  Tom,"  to  watch  from  his 
window  the  young  moon,  until  it  set  in  the  western  sky, 
thinking  of  3Ia?y,  as  he  tried  to  make  himself  beheve, 
wondering  why  it  was  that  Annie  reminded  him  so  much 
of  her,  and  why  he  should  be  so  deeply  interested  in  one 
who,  until  a  few  weeks  past,  had  been  to  him  a  stranger. 

To  Annie,  Captain  Carleton  and  Jimmie  were  nothing 
more  than  friends,  and  if,  during  the  week  preceding 
their  departure,  she  was  quite  as  busy  as  Rose,  and  ap- 
parently as  much  interested  in  the  various  preparations 
for  their  comfort,  it  was  only  because  they  were  soldiers, 
and  not,  as  Widow  Simms  once  suggested  to  Susan, "be- 
cause they  were  Carletons,  and  handsome  and  rich,  and, 
— and, — well,  there's  no  telUn'  what  will  happen,  when  a 
widder's  young  and  handsome,  but  this  I  know,  I've 
never  married,  and  my  man's  been  dead  this  nineteen 
years !  Nobody  need  tell  me  she'd  be  so  busy  for  snij- 
body  but  them  Carletons.  If  'twas  the  Cap'n,  I  wouldn't 
mind,  but  that  sassy -isLced  Jeems.  Ugh  !"  and  in  her  ire 
at  Annie's  supposed  preference  for  "  sassy-faced  Jeems," 
the  widow  spilled  more  than  half  of  the  spiced  chocolate 
she  was  carrying  to  Isaac. 

Never  was  the  widow  more  mistaken.  Annie  Graham 
would  have  done  for  Eh,  John,  and  Isaac  Simms,  or  pos- 
sibly. Wilham  Baker,  the  same  offices  she  was  doing  for 
"  the  Carletons,"  and  her  voice  woidd  have  been  just  as 
sweet  and  hopeful  when  she  bade  them  farewell,  as  it 
was  that  bright  spring  morning,  when,  in  the  parlor  of 
the  Mather  mansion,  Tom  and  Jimmie  were  waiting  to 
say  good-bye. 


tom's  keception.  247 

At  the  very  last  moment  Bill  Baker  had  announced  hia 
intention  of  going  too. 

"  Thirteen  dollars  a  month  and  dog's  fare  was  better 
than  layin'  round  hum,"  he  said;  "  and  livin'  on  the  old 
gal,  who  was  gittin'  most  too  straight  and  blue  for  his 
notions.  Besides  that,  he  felt  kinder  'tached  to  the 
Corp'ral,  and  wanted  to  be  where  he  could  see  him  and 
wait  on  him  like  any  other  nigger." 

Jimmie  would  gladly  have  dispensed  with  such  a  sin- 
gular attache,  but  Bill  could  not  be  shaken  off,  and  as 
he  did  in  various  ways  e\ince  a  strong  regard  for  his 
former  captive,  Jimmie  was  forced  to  submit  to  what  he 
termed  "his  thorn  in  the  flesh,"  giving  from  his  own 
purse  money  for  Billy's  outfit,  and  furnishing  the  mother 
with  means  to  repair  her  dwelling  and  make  it  far  more 
comfortable  than  at  present.  This  he  was  sure  pleased 
Annie,  and  no  sacrifice  was  too  costly  if  it  won  her  re- 
gard. She  had  prayed  for  him,  he  knew,  for  Kose  had 
told  him  so,  and  prayers  like  hers,  though  they  did  not 
avail  to  save  her  George's  Kfe,  would  surely  shield  him 
from  danger.  He  should  come  back  agaia  when  the  war 
was  over, — come  back  to  find  an  older  grave  by  Eock- 
land's  churchyard  gate,  while  the  wife,  who  daily  watered 
that  grave  with  tears,  would  be  as  young,  as  beautiful, 
and  far  more  gii'Hsh-looking  than  now,  when,  in  her 
widow's  weeds,  she  offered  him  her  hand  at  parting,  bid- 
ding God-speed  to  him  and  the  noble  Tom,  who  stood 
beside  him. 

There  were  tears,  and  kisses,  and  blessings  from  Eose 
and  her  mother,  a  few  low-spoken  words  of  sympathy 
and  good  will  from  Annie,  and  then  the  two  young  men 
were  gone. 

Half  an  hour  later,  and  the  eastern  train  thundered 
through  the  town,  bearing  away  to  the  fields  of  bloody 


248  EOSE  MATHER. 

carnage,  three  more  yonng,  vigorous  lives,  and  leaving 
desolate  two  homes,  one  the  lonely  cottage,  where  Bill's 
mother  wept  alone,  the  other  the  Mather  mansion,  where 
IMrs.  Carleton  and  Eose  sobbed  bitterly,  while  Annie 
strove  in  various  ways  to  comfort  them. 


CHAPTEK  XX. 

AT    THE   MATHER   MANSION. 

j )  X  T  was  very  lonely  at  the  Mather  mansion  after  the 
"^^V'A  departure  of  the  soldiers,  and  it  required  all 
^\fc>;J  Annie's  tact  to  keep  Rose  from  sinking  entirely 
under  the  sense  of  desolation  which  crept  over  her  as 
she  began  more  and  more  to  realize  what  the  war  meant, 
and  to  tremble  for  the  safety  of  her  husband  and  her 
brothers.  They  were  still  in  Washington,  but  they 
might  be  ordered  to  advance  at  any  moment  ;  and,  in  a 
tremor  of  distress,  Eose  waited  and  watched  for  every 
mail  which  could  bring  her  tidings  of  them.  Next  to 
her  husband's  letters,  Jimmie's  did  her  the  most  good, 
for  Jimmie  had  in  his  nature  a  world  of  hopefulness  and 
humor  ;  and  his  letters  were  full  of  fun,  and  quaint  des- 
cription of  the  life  he  was  leading.  And  still  of  the  three 
young  men,— Will  Mather,  Tom  Carleton,  and  Jimmie, — 
the  latter  suffered  the  most  acutely,  for  in  addition  to  his 
dislike  of  military  life  he  was  compelled  to  endure  the 
jokes  and  jeers  which  the  coarser  and  more  unfeeHng  of 
his  comrades  heaped  upon  him  when,  from  Bill  Baker, 
they  heard  ihat  his  first  experience  in  arms-bearing  had 
been  learned  in  the  army  of  the  enemy.     To  one  of  Bill's 


AT  THE  MATHER  MANSION.  249 

instincts  it  seemed  a  great  thing  that  he  had  captured 
and  brought  to  Washington  so  illustrious  a  prisoner  as 
the  "  Corp'ral,"  as  he  persisted  in  calhng  him,  and  the 
story  was  repeated  with  such  wonderful  additions,  that 
Jimmie,  when  once  \)j  accident  he  was  a  listener  to  the 
tale,  failed  utterly  to  recognize  himseK  in  the  "  chap  who 
had  run  so  many  miles,  from,  and  then  fought  so  many 
hours  nrithy  the  redoubtable  Bill,"  who,  while  annoying 
his  quondam  captive  so  terribly,  still,  under  all  circum- 
stances, e-vinced  for  him  an  attachment  as  singular  as  it 
was  sincere.  Everything  which  he  could  do  for  Jimmie 
he  did,  becoming  Hterally  his  servant  and  drudge,  and 
thus  saving  him  from  many  a  hardship  which,  as  a  pri- 
vate, he  would  otherwise  have  encountered.  It  was  a 
fancy  of  Jimmie's  that  by  serving  as  a  private  in  the 
army  against  which  his  hand  had  once  been  lifted,  he 
should  in  some  way  expiate  his  sin,  and,  perhaf)s,  be 
surer  of  winning  favor  from  Annie  Graham,  whose  blue 
eyes  were  constantly  before  him  just  as  they  had  looked 
when,  in  her  dress  of  black,  she  stood  in  the  spring  sun- 
shine, bidding  him  good-bye.  Soon  after  his  arrival  in 
Washington,  he  had  been  offered  a  second  heutenancy  in 
Captain  Carleton's  company,  but  he  steadily  dechned  the 
office,  giving  no  explanation  to  any  one  except  his 
brother  and  his  sister  Rose,  to  whom  he  wrote  : 

"  Perhaps  I  was  foolisli  to  decline  the  ofifer,  and  for  a  moment  I 
was  horribly  tempted  to  accept  it,  especially  when,  by  doing  so,  I 
could  to  some  degree  escape  my  '  thorn  in  the  flesh, '  who,  notwith- 
standing that  he  does  me  many  a  kindness,  annoys  me  excessively. 
But  I  could  not  feel  that  I  deserved  that  post.  It  ought  to  belong  to 
some  one  who  had  never  spumed  the  Old  Flag,  and  so  I  stood  firm, 
and  suggested  as  a  substitute  that  other  Simms  chap  from  Kockland, 
Hophni,  or  Phineas,  or  Sli, — hanged  if  I  know  what  his  name  is  1 
Any  way,  he  is  that  crabbed  widow's  son,  that  used  to  pucker  her 
mouth  so  when  she  saw  ^ihal  young  reb  of  a  Caileton,'  and  snatch 
11* 


250  EOSE  MATHER. 

avray  her  go\ni  for  fear  it  should  hit  me.  I  reckon  he'll  get  the 
office,  with  its  twelve  hundred  a  year,  which  he  can  use  for  his 
mother's  support.  One  of  her  sons,  you  know,  is  married,  and  as 
good  as  loRt  to  her  ;  while  that  hoy  Isaac  is  not  long  for  this  world. 
Prison  life  at  Richmond  did  the  business  for  him,  or  I'm  mistaken  ; 
so  let  Eli  be  Heutenant,  and  James  Carle  ton  only  a  private.  Do  you 
think  I  did  right,  and  will  that  paragon  of  yours,  Mistress  Graham, 
think  so,  too  ?" 

This  was  what  Jimmie  wrote  to  Rose  after  he  had  been 
gone  for  three  or  four  weeks,  and  what  Rose,  with  her 
usual  imj)etuous  thoughtlessness,  read  to  her  mother  and 
Annie,  who  were  both  in  her  room  when  the  letter  came. 
Annie  had  made  an  attempt  to  leave,  but  Rose  had  insist- 
ed that  there  could  be  no  secret  in  Jimmie's  letter.  K 
there  was,  she  would  skip  it,  she  said,  and  she  read  on, 
stumbling  dreadfully,  and  mispronouncing  words,  for 
Jimmie's  handwriting  was  never  very  plain :  and  this 
letter,  written  with  a  soft  lead  pencil,  with  a  bit  of  slate- 
stone  for  a  table,  was  his  very  worst.  She  made  out, 
however,  that  he  had  declined  the  office  of  second  lieute- 
nant because  lie  thought  he  did  not  deserve  it  ;  that  he 
had  named  Eli  Simms  as  a  fitter  person  for  it  than  him- 
self, and  that  he  had  called  the  widow  a  "  crab-appple," 
or  something  like  it.  All  this  was  very  clear  ;  and,  after 
exclaiming  against  Jimmie's  morbid  sense  of  justice  in  one 
breath,  and  pronouncing  him  "perfectly  splendid"  in 
another,  she  kept  on  till  she  reached  the  "paragon," 
which  she  rendered  "Pequot,"  making  the  sentence  read, 
"Will  that  Pequot  of  yours.  Mistress  Graham,  think  I  did 
right?" 

"  What  did  he  call  me  ?"  Annie  exclaimed,  her  face 
turning  veiy  white,  as  she  leaned  toward  Rose,  who, 
stai-tled  at  her  vehemence,  tried  again  to  make  out  the 
word,  which  was  strangely  distorted,  from  the  fact  that 


AT   THE   MATHER  MA>?SION.  251 

just  as  Jimmie  was  writing  it,  Ids  shadow,  Bill,  had  struck 
him  familiarly  upon  the  shoulder,  saying,  with  a  laugh, 

"  Writin'  to  your  gal,  I  s'pose?  Give  her  Bill  Baker's 
regrets." 

"It  looks  like  Pequot,  and  some  like  Patagonian,"' 
Rose  said,  deciding  at  last  that  it  was  paragon,  and  adding, 
by  way  of  an  explanation  to  herseH  of  Annie's  evident 
surprise,  "  you  did  not  Hke  the  idea  of  his  calling  you  a 
Pequot,  did  you  Annie  ?  It  wouldn't  have  meant  anything 
if  he  had,  and  it  was  natural  that  I  should  make  the 
blunder,  for  that's  the  name  he  gave  the  young  girl  at  the 
Pequot  House, — the  one  he  liked,  and  to  whom  he  passed 
himself  off  as  Dick  Lee.  You  remember  I  told  you  about 
her." 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  and  Annie's  voice  was  a  little 
husky — "  the  Httle  girl  who  was  not  happy  with  her  aunt, 
and  so  hstened  the  more  willingly  to  the  boy's  kind  win- 
ning words." 

Annie  did  not  know  why  she  said  that,  unless  it  were 
wrung  from  her  by  some  sudden  and  bitter  memory  of 
what  had  been  a  bright  sun-spot  in  her  cheerless  child- 
hood. W^en  the  Pequot  girl  was  mentioned  in  her  pre- 
sence once  before,  she  had  gathered  that  it  was  mostly 
Mrs.  Carleton's  pride  which  had  taken  the  boy  away  from 
any  more  rambles  on  the  beach  or  moonUght  sails  upon 
the  bay,  and  perhaps  it  was  a  desire  to  defend  and  excuse 
the  girl  which  prompted  her  to  advance  a  reason  why 
Dick  Lee's  attentions  had  been  so  acceptable.  She  would 
have  given  much  to  recaU  her  words,  which  made  Mrs. 
Carleton  dart  a  quick,  curious  glance  at  her,  while  Hose 
exclaimed  :  "How  do  you  know  she  was  not  happy  with 
her  aimt  ?     Did  Jimmie  ever  tell  you  about  her  ?" 

"  Never,"  Annie  rephed,  feeling  glad  that  a  servant  ap- 


252  KOSE   MATIIEK. 

peared  just  at  that  moment,  telling  Rose  a  little  girl  was 
in  the  kitchen  asking  to  see  her. 

It  was  a  daughter  of  one  of  the  soldiers  whose  mother 
w^as  sick  and  had  sent  to  Mrs.  Mather  for  some  little  del- 
icacy. Such  calls  were  fi'equent  at  the  Mather  house,  for 
the  soldiers  did  not  receive  their  pay  regularly,  and  there 
was  much  destitution  among  their  families,  who,  but  for 
Rose's  liberahty,  would  have  suffered  far  more  than  they 
did.  As  freely  as  water,  her  money  was  used  to  relieve 
theii'  wants,  and  now,  forgetting  Jimmie  and  his  Pequot, 
she  entered  at  once  into  the  Httle  girl's  story,  and  when 
told  that  the  sick  woman  had  expressed  a  wish  to  see  her 
she  said,  "I'll  go  now  ;  there's  Jake  just  come  in.  I'll 
have  him  harness  the  horses  and  take  you  home.  It  must 
be  a  mile  or  more  to  your  house." 

Rose  usually  acted  upon  her  impulses,  and  was  soon 
in  her  carriage,  with  a  huge  basket  at  her  feet  and  the 
little  girl  opposite,  enjoying  her  ride  so  much,  and  enjoy- 
ing it  the  more  for  the  unmistakable  signs  of  envy  and 
wonder  which  she  detected  in  the  faces  of  her  compan- 
ions as  she  neared  her  humble  home  in  the  hollow. 
Rose  had  asked  both  her  mother  and  Annie  to  accom- 
pany her,  but  they  had  dechned,  and  for  a  time  after 
Rose's  departure  they  sat  together  in  perfect  silence, 
while  a  curious  train  of  thought  was  passing  through  the 
minds  of  each.  Annie's  agitation  when  Rose  read  "  Pe- 
quot "  for  "  paragon  "  had  surprised  Mrs.  Carleton,  while 
what  she  had  said  of  the  girl  and  her  aunt  had  awaken- 
ed a  feehng  of  disquiet  and  suspicion.  Mrs.  Carleton 
was  proud  of  her  own  and  her  husband's  family, — proud 
of  her  wealth,  and  proud  of  her  position.  Not  offen- 
sively so,  but  in  that  quiet,  assured  kind  of  way  so  na- 
tural   to    the    highly    bred    Bostonian.      It    was    this 


AT  THE   MATHER  MANSION.  253 

pride  whicli  had  prompted  her  to  resort  to  so  ex- 
treme measures  with  the  boy  Jimmie,  when  she  found 
how  much  he  was  interested  in  the  little  Pequot,  and 
when,  during  Jimmie's  brief  stay  in  Kockland,  she,  with 
a  mother's  quick  intuition,  detected  in  him  signs  of  inter- 
est in  Annie  Graham,  her  pride  again  took  fright,  and 
she  was  half  glad  to  have  him  go  from  the  possible  tempta- 
tion. Something  in  the  nobler  part  of  the  woman*  s  nature 
told  her  how  wrong  the  feeling  was,  while  each  day  some 
new  development  of  Annie's  gentle  Christian  character, 
made  the  desolate  young  creature  dearer  to  her.  That 
she  was  superior  to  most  people  in  her  rank  of  hfe  Mrs. 
Carleton  knew,  and  she  had  more  than  once  wondered 
how  one  hke  her  had  ever  become  the  wife  of  a  mechanic. 
She  was  not  thinking  of  this,  however,  on  the  afternoon 
when  she  was  alone  with  Annie,  while  Rose  was  away 
on  her  errand  of  mercy.  She  was  thinking  rather  of  the 
suspicion  which  had  just  found  a  lodgment  in  her  mind, 
and  was  devising  some  means  of  testing  its  reality.  To 
this  end  she  at  last  made  some  casual  remark  about  Rock- 
land audits  people,  asking  if  Annie  had  always  Hved  there. 

"  Only  since  I  was  married,'*  was  the  reply.  And  IVIi's. 
Carleton  continued, 

"  You  seem  more  like  Eastern  people  than  like  a  New 
Yorker.     Were  you  born  in  New  England  ?'* 

"Yes, — in  Connecticut,"  Annie  said.  And  then  Mrs. 
Carleton  made  a  great  blunder  by  asking  next, 

"Were  you  bom  in  or  near  New  London?  I  have 
been  there  several  times,  and  may  know  your  family." 

At  mention  of  New  London  Annie's  eyes  flashed  upon 
Mrs.  Carleton  with  a  startled  look,  as  if  she  felt  that 
there  was  a  deeper  meaning  in  the  questioning  to  which 
she  was  being  subjected  than  appeared  on  the  surface, 
and  her  voice  trembled  a  httle  as  she  replied. 


254  EOSE   MATHER. 

"I  was  born  in  Hartford,  and  lived  there  till  I  was 
eight  years  old,  when  my  parents  both  died  of  cholera 
in  one  day,  and  I  went  to  hve  with  my  aunt  in  New 
Haven." 

"  Yes,"  Mrs.  Carleton  answered  slowly. 

Thus  far  there  was  quite  as  much  to  prove  as  there 
was  to  disprove  the  correctness  of  her  surmise,  and 
thinking  to  herself, 

"  I  may  as  well  go  further  now  I  have  commenced  with 
being  rude,"  she  continued,  "  Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Graham, 
if  I  seem  inquisitive,  but  I  cannot  help  feeling  interested 
in  one  to  whom  Rose  is  so  greatly  attached,  and  I  do  not 
remember  that  I  ever  heard  any  of  your  history  before 
your  husband  went  to  war.  I  do  not  even  know  your 
maiden  name." 

Annie's  heart  beat  almost  audibly,  and  her  cheeks  were 
very  red,  as  she  repHed, 

"  My  father  was  Dr.  Howard,  and  I  was  Annie  Louise 
Howard.  Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Carleton,  if  I  cannot  talk 
much  of  my  gui-life  after  my  parents  died.  It  was  not 
a  happy  one.  I  was  wholly  dependent  upon  my  aunt, 
who,  while  giving  me  every  advantage  in  the  way  of  edu- 
cation, kept  before  me  so  constantly  the  fact  that  I  was 
an  object  of  charity  that  it  embittered  every  moment  of 
my  life,  and  when  George  offered  me  his  love  I  accepted 
it  gladly,  finding  in  him  the  only  real  friend  I  had  known 
SLQce  the  day  I  was  an  orphan." 

Annie  was  crying  now,  and  excusing  herself  she  left 
the  parlor  and  repau-ed  to  her  own  room,  where  her  ex- 
citement spent  itself  in  tears  and  sobs  as  she  recalled  all 
the  di-eadful  years  when  she  was  subject  to  the  caprices 
of  the  most  capricious  of  women,  who  had  attempted  to 
force  her  into  a  marriage  with  a  millfonnaire  of  sixty, 
and  had  driven  her  to  accept  the  love  which  George  Gra- 


AT  THE  MATHER  MANSION.  255 

ham  had  offered  her.  George  had  not  been  her  equal  in 
an  intellectual  point  of  view,  and  none  knew  this  fact 
better  than  Annie  herself.  But  he  was  the  kindest,  ten- 
derest  of  husbands,  and  she  had  loved  him  devotedly  for 
the  manly  virtues  which  made  him  the  noble,  unselfish 
man  he  was.  Capt.  Carleton  and  Jimmie  both  could 
sympathize  with  her  tastes  and  inchnations  far  better 
than  George  had  done;  but  never  once  during  her  brief 
maiTied  life  had  she  allowed  herself  to  wonder  what  her 
lot  might  have  been  had  it  been  cast  with  people  hke  the 
Carletons.  And  since  her  husband's  death  anything 
which  looked  away  from  that  grave  by  the  churchyard 
gate  seemed  so  terrible  to  her  that  now,  as  she  recalled 
Mrs.  Carleton's  questionings,  and  guessed  what  had 
prompted  them,  every  nerve  quivered  with  pain,  which 
could  only  be  soothed  by  a  visit  to  George's  grave. 
There,  on  the  turf  which  covered  him,  she  had  wept  out 
many  a  grief,  and  she  started  for  it  now,  the  villagers 
watching  her  as  she  passed  their  doors,  and  curiously 
speculating,  as  people  win,  upon  the  time  to  come  when 
the  long  black  dress  and  graceful,  girlish  form  would  net 
be  so  often  seen  among  the  Rockland  dead. 

Already  the  gossips  of  the  town  were  coupling  her 
name  with  the  Carletons,  the  majority  giving  her  to  Tom, 
the  elder,  and  more  worthy  of  the  two.  A  whisper  of  this 
gossip  had  been  borne  to  Mrs.  Carleton,  who,  while  pre- 
tending to  ignore  it,  had  felt  troubled  as  she  recalled  all 
the  incidents  of  Jimmie's  visit  at  home.  Then,  when 
the  suspicion  came  to  her  that  the  woman  whom  Rose 
had  taken  into  her  household  was  possibly  identical  with 
the  girl  of  New  London,  whose  name  she  could  not  re- 
member, she  felt  for  a  moment  greatly  disturbed.  There 
was  a  fierce  struggle  with  her  pride,  a  close  reasoning 
with  herself,  and  then  her  better  nature  triumphed,  and 


256  ROSE   MATHER. 

her  heart  went  out  very  kindly  toward  poor  Annie,  at 
that  moment  standing  by  her  husband's  grave,  and  won- 
dering why  her  thoughts  would  keep  straying  away  to 
the  wayward  young  man  who  had  been  a  traitor  to  his 
country,  but  was  trying  to  atone  by  voluntarily  bearing 
the  hardships  of  a  private's  life  when  a  better  was  offered 
him.  He  had  asked  if  she  would  think  he  did  right,  and 
the  question  had  shown  that  he  cared  for  her  good  opin- 
ion. Yes,  she  did  think  he  was  right,  and  she  resolved 
to  send  him  a  message  to  that  effect  when  Rose  wrote  to 
him  next.  There  was  no  wrong  to  the  dead  in  the 
thought,  and  her  tears  dropped  just  as  fast  upon  the 
marble  as  she  stooped  to  kiss  the  name  cut  upon  it  and 
then  left  the  silent  graveyard. 

Meantime  Rose  had  visited  her  sick  woman  in  the  Hol- 
low,— had  fed  the  hungry  children,  and  dropped  upon 
the  floor  the  six  weeks  baby  which  she  tried  to  hold; 
then,  gathering  her  shawl  about  her  and  holding  up  her 
skirts,  just  as  she  always  did  when  in  the  homes  of  the 
poor,  she  re-entered  her  carriage  and  bade  Jake  drive 
her  next  to  Widow  Simms'. 

Everything  there  was  neat  and  clean  as  soap  and 
sand  and  the  widow's  two  hands  could  make  it,  while 
Susan  made  a  very  pretty  picture,  in  her  dark  stujQf 
gown  with  the  scarlet  velvet  ribbon  in  her  black 
hair.  There  was  a  saucer  of  English  violets  on  the 
round  deal  table,  and  their  sweet  perfume  filled  the 
room  into  which  Rose  came  dancing,  her  eyes  shining 
like  stars,  and  her  cheeks  so  brilliant  a  color  that  the 
widow  began  directly  to  wonder  "if  there  wasn't  some 
paint  there." 

The  widow  was  not  in  her  best  mood,  for  she  was  very 
tired,  having  done  a  heavy  washing  in  the  morning  be- 
fore Rose  Mather  had  thought   of  opening  her  bright 


AT  THE  MATHER  MANSION.  257 

eyes;  tlien,  after  the  coarser,  larger  pieces  were  'dried 
and  ironed,  she  had  tried  to  spin,  a  work  to  which  she 
clung  as  tenaciously  as  if  on  every  stream  in  New  England 
there  were  not  a  cotton  or  woolen  factory  capable  of  do- 
ing the  work  so  much  easier  and  better  than  hersell 
The  widow  was  fond  of  spinning,  and  she  had  turned 
the  wheel  with  a  right  good  will,  until  Isaac  had  com- 
plained that  the  continuous  humming  hurt  his  head,  and 
made  him  think  of  the  wind  as  it  howled  so  dismally 
around  the  dreary  prison  in  Kichmond.  Libby,  they 
called  it  now,  and  Isaac  always  shuddered  when  he  heard 
the  name  and  thought  of  what  he  suffered  there. 

Isaac  was  very  weak  and  pale,  and  his  face  looked  like 
that  of  some  young  girl  as  he  lay  among  his  pillows,  in 
the  pretty  dressing-gown  which  Hose  had  bought  and 
Annie  had  made  for  him.  He  was  sleeping  when  Rose 
came  in,  and  the  widow's  "  Hsh-sh,"  came  warningly  as 
a  gi-eeting,  but  came  too  late,  for  Rose's  blithesome  voice 
had  roused  him,  and  his  glad,  welcoming  smile  more  than 
counterbalanced  the  frown  which  settled  on  the  widow's 
face  when  she  saw  her  boy  distiu'bed.  Rose  was  accus- 
tomed to  the  widow's  ways,  and  throwing  off  her  shawl  and 
untying  her  hat,  she  sat  down  on  the  foot  of  Isaac's 
bed,  and  drawing  Jimmie's  letter  from  her  pocket  be- 
gan: 

"IVe  got  such  splendid  news  for  you,  llrs.  Simms, — at 
least,  I  think  I  have.  Yes,  I  know  it's  sure  to  come  true. 
Eli  is  going  to  be  a  heutenant,  with  twelve  hundred  dol- 
lars a  year.  Such  a  heap  of  money  for  him;  and  it's  all 
Jimmie's  doings,  too.  He  would  not  have  the  office  be- 
cause he  did  not  think  he  deserved  it.  Listen  to  what  he 
says." 

Both  the  Widow  and  Susan  were  close  to  Rose  now, 
the  frown  aU  gone  from  the  widow's  brow,  and  the  puck- 


258  ROSE  MATHER. 

er  from  her  mouth;  but  both  came  back  in  a  trice,  as 
blundering  Eose  read  on  about  "  Hophni,"  and  "  Phi- 
neas,"  and  "EH/'  till  she  came  to  the  "  crabked"  which 
she  called  " crab-apple"  and  then  stopped  short,  her  face 
a  perfect  blaze,  as  she  tried  to  apologize. 

"  'Tain't  wuth  -while  to  soap  it  over,"  the  widow  said, 
fiercely.  "I  6e  a  crab-apj^le,  I  s'pose,  and  a  gnarly  one 
at  that,  but  I  am  as  I  was  made,  and  I'd  like  to  know  if 
cra6.s  wan't  as  good  as  Secessionei's." 

"  Please,  mother,  never  mind,"  Isaac  said,  pleadingly, 
and  his  voice  always  quieted  the  fiery  woman,  who  Hs- 
tened  while  Rose  read  of  EH's  good  fortune,  and  made 
another  terrible  mistake  by  stumbhng  upon  Jimmie's 
opinion  of  Isaac's  sickness. 

She  only  read,  "He  is  not  long  for  this  world,"  but 
that  was  enough  to  bring  a  flush  to  his  brow,  and 
blanch  his  mother's  cheek;  while,  with  a  gush  of  tears. 
Hose  hid  her  face  in  Susan's  lap,  and  sobbed : 

"  I  wish  I  had  not  come.  I'm  always  doing  wrong 
when  I  mean  to  do  the  best.  Oh,  I  wish  the  war  had 
never  been,  and  I  don't  believe  Isaac  is  so  sick.  Jimmie 
has  no  right  to  judge.     He  don't  know." 

Rose's  distress  was  too  genuine  not  to  touch  the  wid- 
ow, who  tried  to  appear  calm  and  unconcerned,  and  even 
said  something  kind  of  Jimmie,  who  had  so  generously 
preferred  Eh  to  himself.  But  there  was  a  restraint  over 
everything,  and,  after  a  few  awkward  attempts  at  some- 
thing like  natural  conversation.  Rose  bade  a  hasty  good- 
bye, and  went  out  from  the  house  to  which  she  had 
brought  more  sorrow  than  joy. 


NOT  LONG  FOR  THIS  WORLD.  259 

CHAPTEE  XXL 

"not  long  foe  this  world." 

^  WBhE  sick  boy  whispered  the  words  a  great  mau^ 
'^Jsfe  times  to  himself,  as  with  his  face  to  the  wall, 
w|^  where  neither  his  mother  nor  Susan  could  see  it, 
he  thought  of  what  Rose  had  read,  and  wondered  if  it 
were  true.  He  was  not  afraid  to  die.  He  had  been  very 
near  death  once  before,  and  had  not  shrunk  from  meet- 
ing it  as  death.  It  was  only  the  dying  from  home  he 
had  dreaded  so  much,  asking  to  live  till  he  could  see  his 
mother  again,  and  the  grass  growing  by  the  cottage 
door,  and  the  violets  by  the  well.  And  God  had  taken 
him  at  his  word.  He  had  lived  to  see  his  mother,  to  feel 
the  touch  of  her  r^ugh  hands  upon  his  hair;  to  hear  her 
voice,  always  kind  to  him,  calling  him  her  "Iky  boy;" 
to  see  the  gi-een  grass  by  the  door,  and  the  violets  by 
the  well.  But  this,  alas !  did  not  suffice.  He  wanted  to 
live  longer, — live  to  be  a  man,  like  Eli  and  John;  live  to 
do  good;  live  to  take  care  of  his  mother;  live  to  hear  the 
notes  of  victory  borne  on  the  northern  breeze,  as  the 
Federal  Flag  floated  again  over  land  and  sea.  All  this 
was  worth  living  for,  and  Isaac  was  young  to  die,— only 
nineteen,  and  looking  three  years  younger.  It  was  very 
hard,  and  the  dark  eyelashes  closed  tightly  to  keep  back 
the  tears  as  the  white  Hps  tried  to  pray,  "  Thy  will  be 
done."  That  was  what  they  meant  to  utter,  but  there 
came  instead  the  first  words  of  the  prayer  the  Saviour 
taught,  "Our  Father  I"  that  was  all;  but  the  very  name 
of  father  brought  a  deep  peace  into  Isaac's  heart. 

God  was  his  father,  and  he  had  nothing  to  fear;  living 
or  dying,  it  would  be  well  with  the  boy  who  would  not 


260  ROSE   MATHER. 

tell  a  lie  even  for  promotion.  And  so,  wliile  the  mother, 
-wliose  heart  ached  and  throbbed  with  this  new  fear,  and 
still  found  time  to  feel  a  thrill  of  pride  in  Lieutenant  Eli, 
moved  softly  around  the  room,  preparing  the  dainty  sup- 
per for  her  child,  Isaac  slept  peacefully,  nor  woke  until 
the  delicate  repast  was  ready,  and  waiting  for  him  on 
the  little  table  by  the  bed.  There  was  spiced  chocolate 
to-night,  and  nice  cream  toast,  with  grape  jelly,  and  a 
bit  of  cold  baked  chicken,  and  the  highly-seasoned  cu- 
cumber pickles  Isaac  had  craved  so  nwich  since  his  re- 
turn, and  which  the  physician  said  were  good  for  him. 
And  the  best  china  cup  was  brought  out,  and  the  silver 
spoons  marked  with  the  widow's  maiden  name,  and  a 
white  napkin  was  on  the  tray;  and  Isaac,  who  enjoyed 
such  things,  knew  why  it  was  all  done  that  particular 
night,  just  as  the  widow  knew  why,  at  bed-time,  he  asked 
Susan  to  read  fi'om  Eevelation,  vii.  16.  "  They  shall  hun- 
ger no  more,  neither  thirst  any  more;  neither  shall  the  sun 
light  on  them,  nor  any  heat.  For  the  Lamb  which  is  in 
the  midst  of  the  throne  shall  feed  them,  and  shall  lead 
them  unto  living  fountains  of  waters,  and  God  shall 
wipe  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes." 

He  was  thinking  of  his  heavenly  home,  while  the 
mother  was  thinking  of  the  time  when  he,  who  Jimmie 
Carleton  had  said  "  was  not  long  for  earth,"  would  be 
gone,  and  she  could  no  longer  do  for  him  the  little  offices 
which  gave  her  so  much  comfort.  Since  the  di'eadful 
days  when  she  knew  her  boy  was  in  prison,  the  widow 
had  not  felt  so  keen  a  pang  as  that  which  stirred  her 
heart-strings  now,  when  alone  in  her  room  she  dropped 
in  her  quick,  defiant  way  into  the  high-backed  chair,  and 
sitting  stiff  and  straight,  tried  to  face  the  future. 
It  could  not  be  that  Isaac  had  only  come  home  to  die, — 
God  would  not   deal  thus   harshly  with  her.     He  had 


NOT  LONG  FOR  THIS  WORLD.  261 

spared  Eli  and  John,  He  had  promoted  them  both, 
and  He  would  not  take  Isaac  from  her.  The  boy  was 
getting  better,  he  was  mending  every  day,  or,  at  least, 
she  had  thought  so,  until  Rose  Mather  came  with  her 
message  of  evil.  Why  could  not  Rose  have  stayed  at 
home?  Why  need  she  come  there  and  leave  such  a 
sting  behind  ?  The  widow  was  growing  very  hard  and 
wicked  toward  poor  little  thoughtless  Rose,  and  her 
heart  lay  like  a  stone  in  her  bosom,  as  for  an  hour  or 
more  she  sat  in  her  high-backed  chair,  thinking  of  the 
boy  whose  low  breathings  she  could  hear  from  the  next 
room.  He  was  sleeping,  she  thought,  and  she  would  steal 
softly  to  his  side  and  see  if  it  was  written  on  his  face 
that  his  days  were  numbered.  But  Isaac  was  not  asleep, 
and  he  knew  the  moment  his  mother  bent  over  him,  and 
turning  toward  her,  he  whispered, 

"  I  know  why  you  are  up  so  late,  mother;  and  what 
you  are  here  for.  You  are  thinking  of  what  Mrs.  Qebv^-fh^fM 
*©»!  said,  and  wondering  if  it  is  true.  I  guess  'tis,  moth- 
er, for  I  don't  get  any  stronger,  and  my  cough  hurts  me 
so.  But  I'm  not  a  bit  afraid  to  die  now,  with  you  beside 
me  up  to  the  very  last  minute.  In  Richmond  it  was  dif- 
ferent: and  I  prayed  so  hard  that  God  would  let  me 
come  back,  if  only  to  drink  from  the  well  and  then  die 
on  the  grass  beside  it.  He  did  l^t  me  come,  and  now 
we  mustn't  say  anything  if  He  does  not  let  me  stay  but  a 
little  bit  of  a  while.  I've  been  thinking  it  over  since 
Mrs.  Mather  went  away,  and  at  first  it  seemed  hard  that 
Eli  and  John  should  both  have  such  good  luck,  and  only 
*Stub,'  be  the  one  to  suffer." 

He  said  this  last  playfully,  using  his  old  nickname  of 
"Stub,"  because  he  saw  by  the  dim  hght  burning  on  the 
table  the  bitter  look  of  anguish  upon  his  mother's  face,  and 
he  would  fain  remove  it.     At  the  mention  of  the  name 


262  ROSE  MATHER. 

•which  her  more  stalwart  sons  had  given  to  her  baby,  the 
widow's  chin  quivered,  and  her  rough  hand  smoothed 
the  thin  Ught  hair,  but  she  did  not  speak,  and  Isaac 
went  on: 

"  Then,  too,  I  want  to  Hve  till  the  war  is  over.  I  want 
to  hear  the  joyful  shouts,  and  see  the  bonfires  they  will 
kindle  in  the  streets.  There's  a  big  box  in  the  bam.  I 
hid  it  there  the  morning  I  went  away,  and  I  said  when 
the  peace  comes  we  can  bum  that  box,  aud  mother  will 
look  out  from  the  window,  and  the  church  bells  will  ring, 
and  there'll  be  such  rejoicings.  Now  I  'most  know  I  shan't 
be  here  to  see  it.  But,  mother,  you'll  burn  the  box, — ^you 
and  Susan,  with  Eli  and  John, — and  you'll  think  of  me, 
who  did  what  I  could  to  bring  the  peace." 

There  was  a  choking  sound  hke  the  swallowing  of  a 
great  sob,  and  that  was  all  the  answer  the  widow  made; 
only  her  hands  moved  faster  through  the  threads  of  hght 
brown  hair,  and  her  rigid  form  sat  up  straighter,  more 
rigid  than  ever.  She  was  suffering  the  fiercest  pangs  she 
would  ever  know,  for  she  was  giving  Isaac  up.  She  was 
coming  to  the  knowledge  that  he  was  reaUy  going  from 
her, — that  Jimmie  Carleton  was  right,  and  Isaac  was  not 
long  for  this  world.  "When  at  last  her  mind  reached  that 
jDoint,  the  tension  of  nerve  gave  way  for  a  little,  and  her 
hot  tears  poured  over  the  white  face  she  kissed  so  ten- 
derly. 

The  moon  was  looking  in  at  the  low  west  window  ere 
the  widow  went  back 'to  her  own  bed,  and  Isaac,  nestUng 
down  among  his  pillows,  fell  away  to  sleep,  dreaming  of 
the  bonfire  in  the  street,  when  the  hidden  box  was  burn- 
ed, and  dreaming,  too,  of  that  other  world  which  Hes  so 
near  this  that  he  could  almost  see  the  loving  hands 
stretched  out  to  welcome  him. 

After  that  night  the  widow's  mouth  shut  together 


NOT  LONG  FOR  THIS  WORLD. 

more  firmly  than  ever,  and  the  frown  between  her  eyes 
was  more  marked  and  decided,  while  her  manner  to  all  save 
Isaac  and  Annie  Graham  was  sharper,  and  crisper  than 
before.  When  EH's  letter  came  telling  of  his  promotion 
and  lauding  Jimmie  Carleton,  whose  generous  act  was  a 
by-word  in  the  company,  her  face  relaxed  a  little,  and  she 
said  to  Annie  Graham:  "The  Lord  is  good  to  my  two 
oldest  boys,  but  if  he'd  give  me  Isaac  I  wouldn't  care 
for  all  the  titles  in  Christendom." 

As  the  warm  weather  came  on,  Isaac  did  not  get  up  any 
more  to  sit  by  the  open  door,  but  lay  all  day  on  his  bed, 
sometimes  sleeping,  sometimes  thinking,  and  sometimes 
listening  while  Annie  read  to  him  from  the  Bible.  Isaac 
was  very  fond  of  Annie.  She  had  been  George  Gra- 
ham's wife,  and  he  evinced  so  much  desire  to  have  her 
constantly  with  him  that  at  last  she  stayed  altogether 
with  Mrs.  Simms,  only  going  occasionally  to  the  Mather 
Mansion,  where  they  missed  her  so  much.  Rose  was 
nothing  without  her,  and  had  at  first  opposed  her  going 
to  the  Widow  Simms. 

"If  help  was  needed,"  she  said,  "she  would  hire  some 
one,  for  Annie  must  not  tire  herself  out  just  as  she  was 
beginning  to  grow  plump  and  beautiful  again." 

But  when  Isaac  said  to  her:  "Please  let  Mrs.  Graham 
come;  it  will  not  be  long  she'll  have  to  stay,  and  she  is  so 
full  of  hope  and  faith  that  it  makes  me  more  willing  to 
die  and  to  go  away  alone  across  the  Jordan,"  she  with- 
drew her  opposition,  and  Annie  was  free  to  go  and  come 
as  she  liked.  It  suited  Annie  to  get  away  from  the  Ma- 
ther Mansion  just  then,  for  she  could  not  help  feeling 
that  there  was  a  purpose  in  Mrs.  Carleton's  questioning 
her  of  her  early  history,  and  she  hailed  any  excuse  which 
removed  her  from  the  scrutiny  with  which  since  that 
conversation  touching  her  eai'ly  home  and  maiden  name 


264  ROSE  MATHER. 

]Mrs.  Carleton  had  evidently  regarded  her.  Jiminie  had 
WTitten  to  her  once,  inclosing  the  unsealed  note  in  a  let- 
ter to  Rose,  and  Annie's  cheeks  had  been  all  ablaze  as  she 
read  it,  for  she  knew  the  mother's  eyes  were  fastened 
uj^on  her.  It  was  nothing  but  a  simple  acknowledgment 
of  some  article  Annie  had  made  and  sent  to  him  in  a  box 
filled  for  all  three  of  the  soldiers,  Will  Mather,  Tom  and 
Jimmie.  There  was  also  mention  made  of  Annie's  kind- 
ly message,  to  the  intent  that  she  did  think  he  was  right 
in  giving  the  office  to  Eli,  and  a  wish  expressed  that  she 
would  write  to  him. 

"You  don't  know  how  much  good  letters  from  home  do  snch 
Bcamps  as  we  privates  are,  or  how  we  need  something  from  the  civil- 
ized world  to  keep  us  from  turning  heathens. " 

Tom,  too,  had  sent  thanks  to  Annie  Graham  for  the 
needle-book  made  for  him,  but  he  did  not  write  to  her, 
though  every  letter  had  in  it  more  or  less  of  "]Mrs  Gra- 
ham,''" and  Mrs.  Carleton,  while  saying  to  herself:  "Both 
my  boys  have  fallen  under  the  spell,"  felt  her  pride 
gradually  giving  way  and  her  heart  growing  warmer  to- 
ward the  woman  whom  she  missed  so  much  during  the 
weeks  spent  at  Isaac's  bedside. 

They  were  not  many,  for  when  the  dry  days  of  August 
came  on,  and  the  grass  withered  by  the  door,  and  the 
flowers  drooped  for  want  of  rain,  and  the  sun  rose  each 
morning  redder,  hotter,  than  on  the  previous  day,  the 
sick  boy  began  to  fail  rapidly,  and  one  night,  just  as 
the  wind  was  beginning  to  blow  from  the  west,  where 
a  bank  of  dark  clouds  was  lying,  he  whispered  to  An- 
nie: 

"  Call  mother  and  Susan,  for  I  know  I  am  going  now." 

The  widow  was  in  the  back  yard,  putting  out  the  bar- 
rels and  tubs  to  catch  the  rain  if  it  came,  for  the  well 


NOT  LONG  FOR  THIS  WORLD.  265 

and  the  cistern  were  nearly  dry,  just  as  her  diin  eyes 
were,  when  a  few  minutes  after  she  bent  over  her  boy, 
and  saw  the  change  coming  so  rapidly.  She  could  not 
weep,  and  Susan's  sobs  annoyed  her.  "  'Twas  like  them 
Ruggleses  to  go  into  hysterics  and  make  a  fuss,"  she 
thought,  with  a  kind  of  bitter  scorn  for  her  daughter-in- 
law,  who  loved  Isaac  as  a  brother,  and  wept  that  he  was 
leaving  them.  Perhaps  the  dying  boy  detected  the  feel- 
ing, for  he  said,  feebly: 

"Go  out,  Susan  and  Mrs.  Graham  both.  I  want  to 
be  alone  with  mother  a  minute."  Then  when  they  were 
alone,  he  said:  "I  am  dying,  mother,  and  I  know  you 
won't  be  angry  at  what  I  say.  I  want  you  to  be  kind  to 
Susan,  and  pet  her  some  and  love  her  for  John's  sake. 
She  is  a  good  girl,  and  IMr.  Carleton's  good  too,  the  one 
they  call  Jimmie,  I  mean.  Don't  say  harsh  things  of  hirn 
because  he  was  once  a  rebel.  Don't  speak  against  him  to 
Mrs.  Graham.  Maybe  she  will  like  him  sometime,  and  if 
so,  help  her,  mother,  instead  of  hindering  it." 

Jimmie  Carleton,  on  his  lone  picket-watch  that  night 
on  the  banks  of  the  Potomac,  and  thinking,  alas !  more 
of  a  black-robed  figure,  with  braids  of  pale-brown  hair, 
than  of  a  lurking  foe,  little  dreamed  of  the  good  word 
spoken  for  him  by  the  dying  boy,  whose  eyes  turned 
lovingly  to  Annie  when  she  came  back  to  him,  and  held 
his  clammy  hand. 

"It  is  not  dark;  it  is  not  hard;  I  am  not  afraid,  for 
the  Saviour  is  with  me,"  he  kept  repeating,  and  then  he 
sent  messages  to  his  absent  brothers, — to  Captain  Tom 
Carleton,  who  had  been  so  kind  to  him  in  prison,  and  to 
Jimmie,  too,  and  all  the  boys  who  had  been  with  him  in 
battle;  and  then,  just  as  the  wind  began  to  roar  down 
the  chimney,  and  the  refreshing  rain  to  beat  against  the 
windows,  Isaac's  spirit  went  out  into  the  great  unknown 
•»  12 


266  ROSE  MATHER. 

expanse  beyond  this  life,  and  only  the  pale,  emaciated 
body  was  left  in  the  humble  room,  where  the  lone  women 
stood  looking  upon  the  boyish  face,  which  seemed  so 
young  in  death. 

The  widow  uttered  no  sound  when  she  knew  he  was 
dead,  and  it  was  her  hand  which  drew  the  covering  de- 
cently about  him,  and  then  picked  up  fi'om  the  floor  a 
loose  feather,  which  had  dropped  from  the  worn  pillow. 

Susan  must  speak  to  theu-  next-door  neighbors,  she 
said,  and  ask  them  to  care  for  the  body.  Then,  when 
the  men  came  in,  she  remembered  an  open  window  in 
the  back  chamber  where  the  rain  must  be  driving  in, 
and  stole  up  there  on  the  pretence  of  shutting  it;  but  she 
did  not  return  till  the  men  were  gone,  and  Isaac  was  ly- 
ing on  the  cahco- covered  lounge  with  a  look  of  perfect 
peace  ujoon  his  face,  and  the  damp  night  air  blowing 
softly  across  his  Hght  hair. 

Kneeling  at  his  side,  and  laying  her  hard  cheek  against 
the  icy  face  of  her  last-bom,  the  mother  gave  vent  to  her 
grief  in  her  own  peculiar  way.  There  were  no  tears,  or 
sobs;  but  loving,  tender,  cooing  words  whispered  over 
the  boy,  as  if  he  had  been  a  hving  baby,  instead  of  a  sol- 
dier dead.  And  yet  the  fact  that  it  was  a  soldier,  lying 
there  before  her,  was  never  lost  sight  of,  and  the  bitter 
part  of  the  woman's  nature  was  stirred  to  its  very  depths 
as  she  remembered  what  had  brought  her  boy  to  this. 
It  was  the  icar.  And  fierce  were  the  mental  denuncia- 
tions against  those  who  had  stirred  up  the  strife,  while 
with  the  bitterness  came  pitying  thoughts  of  the  poor 
boys  who  died  in  the  lonely  hospitals,  or  on  the  battle- 
fields; and  with  her  cheek  still  resting  against  the  pale, 
clammy  one,  and  her  fingers  threading  the  Hght  hair,  the 
widow  vowed  that  all  she  was,  and  all  she  had,  should 
henceforth  be  given  to  the  war.     She  would  work  for  the 


NOT  LONG  FOE  THIS  WOEU).  267 

soldiers,  give  to  the  soldiers,  deny  herself  food  and  rai- 
ment for  the  soldiers;  aye,  even  die  for  them,  if  need  be; 
and  whispering  the  vow  into  her  dead  boy's  ear,  she  left 
him  there  alone,  jusfc  as  the  early  summer  dawn  was  break- 
ing. And  when,  next  morning,  her  friends  came  in  to 
see  her,  they  found  her  sitting  by  the  body,  and  working 
upon  the  shirt  she  had  a  few  days  before  taken  from  the 
Aid  Society  to  make  for  some  poor  wretch. 

She  should  not  wear  mourning,  she  said.  She  had 
other  uses  for  her  money;  and  so  the  leghorn  of  many 
years'  date,  with  the  old  faded  green  veil,  followed  ISaao 
Simms  to  the  grave,  and  the  widow's  face  was  still  and 
stony  as  if  cut  from  sohd  marble. 

They  made  him  a  great  funeral,  too,  though  not  so 
great  as  George  Graham's  had  been;  for  Isaac  was  not 
the  second,  nor  the  third,  nor  the  fourth  soldier  buried 
in  Eockland's  churchyard.  But  he  was  Isaaxi  Simms, — 
"  Little  Ike," — "  Stub," — whom  everybody  liked;  and  so 
the  firemen  came  out  to  do  him  honor,  and  the  Kockland 
Guards,  and  the  company  of  young  lads  who  were  be- 
ginning to  drill,  and  the  boys  from  the  Academy,  and 
Kose  Mather  was  chief  directress,  and  her  carriage  car- 
ried the  widow,  and  Susan,  and  Annie,  and  herself  up  to 
the  newly-made  grave,  where  they  left  the  boy  who  once 
had  sawed  wood  for  the  little  lady  now  paying  him  such 
honor. 

The  war  was  a  great  leveler  of  rank,  bringing  together 
in  one  common  cause  the  high  and  the  low,  the  rich  and 
the  poor,  and  in  no  one  was  this  more  strikingly  seen 
than  in  the  case  of  Rose  Mather,  who,  utterly  forgetful  of 
the  days  when,  as  Eose  Carleton,  of  Boston,  she  would 
scarcely  have  deigned  to  notice  such  as  the  Widow 
Simms,  now  sought  in  so  many  ways  to  comfort  the 
stricken  woman,  going  every  day  to  her  humble  home, 


268  ROSE  MATHER. 

and  once  coaxing  her  to  spend  a  day  at  the  Mather 
mansion,  together  with  Susan,  whom  Eose  secretly 
thought  a  little  insipid  and  dull.  Susan's  husband  was 
alive,  and  in  the  full  flush  of  prosperity;  so  Susan  did 
not  need  sympathy,  but  the  widow  did,  and  Rose  got 
her  up  to  the  "  Great  House,"  as  the  widow  called  it, 
and  ordered  a  most  elaborate  dinner,  with  soups  and 
fish,  and  roasts  and  salads,  prepared  with  oil,  which 
turned  the  widow's  stomach,  and  ices  and  chocolate,  and 
Charlotte-russe,  and  nuts  nnd  fruit,  and  coffee  served  in 
cux^s  the  size  of  an  acom,  the  widow  thought,  as  very  red 
in  the  face  and  perspii'ing  at  every  pore,  she  went 
through  the  dreadful  dinner  which  lasted  nearly  three 
hours,  and  left  her  at  its  conclusion,  "weak  as  water, 
and  sweatin'  like  rain,"  as  she  whispered  to  Annie,  who 
took  the  tired  woman  for  a  few  moments  into  her  own 
room,  and  listened  patiently  to  her  comments  upon  the 
grand  dinner  which  had  so  nearly  been  the  death  of  her. 

Susan,  on  the  contrary,  enjoyed  it.  It  was  her  first 
glimpse  of  hfe  among  the  very  wealthy,  and  while  her 
mother-in-law  was  wondering  "  how  Annie  could  stand 
such  doin's  every  day,  and  especially  that  'bominable 
soup,  and  still  wus  salut"  Susan  was  thinking  how  she 
should  like  to  live  in  just  such  style,  and  wondering  if, 
when  John  came  home  with  his  wages  all  saved,  she 
could  not  set  up  housekeeping  somewhat  on  the  Mather 
order.  At  least  she  would  have  those  little  coffees  after 
dinner  ;  though  she  doubted  John's  willingness  to  sit 
quietly  imtil  the  coffee  was  reached. 

It  was  a  long  day  to  the  widow,  and  the  happiest  part 
of  it  was  the  going  home  by  the  cemetery,  where  she 
stopped  at  Isaac's  grave,  and  bending  over  the  turf, 
murmured  her  tender  words  of  love  and  sorrow  for  the 
boy  who  slept  beneath.     There  was  a  plan  forming  in 


THE  WOUNDED  SOLDIER.  269 

the  widow's  mind,  and  it  came  out  at  last  to  Annie,  who 
was  yisiting  her  one  day. 

The  hospitals  were  full  to  overflowing,  and  the  cry  all 
along  the  Hnes  was  for  more  help  to  care  for  the  sick 
and  dying,  and  the  widow  was  going  as  nurse,  either  in 
the  hospital  or  in  the  field.  She  should  prefer  the  lat- 
ter, she  said,  "  for  only  folks  with  pluck  could  stand  it 
there." 

And  Annie  encouraged  her  to  go,  and  even  talked  of 
going  too,  but  the  first  suggestion  of  the  plan  brought 
such  a  storm  of  opposition  from  Eose,  that  for  a  little 
time  longer  Annie  yielded,  resolving,  however,  that  ere 
long  she  would  break  away  and  take  her  place  where 
she  felt  that  she  could  do  more  good  than  she  was  doing 
iu  Kockland. 


CHAPTER  XXn. 

^^^^]^^  ^^^   WOUNDED   SOLDIEB. 

iWW  SIMMS  was  going  to  the  army,  and  Jim_ 

Ai&^  mie  Carleton,  who  was  coming  home  for  a  few 
■^^^:  weeks,  was  to  be  her  escort  to  Washington. 
During  the  summer  Jimmie  had  seen  a  good  deal  of  hard 
service.  He  had  been  in  no  general  battle,  but  had 
taken  part  in  several  skirmishes  and  raids,  in  one  of 
which  he  received  a  severe  flesh  wound  in  his  arm, 
which,  together  with  a  sprained  ankle,  confined  him  for 
a  time  to  the  hospital,  and  finally  procured  for  him  a 
furlough  of  three  or  four  weeks.  Eose  was  delighted, 
and  this  time  the  Federal  Fag  was  actually  floating  fi'om 
the  cupola  of  the  Mather  mansion  in  honor  of  Jimmie'a 
return  ;  but  there  was  no  crowd  at  the   depot  to  wel- 


270  ROSE  MATHER. 

come  liim.  That  custom  was  worn  out,  and  only  the 
Mather  carriage  was  waiting  for  Jimmie,  whose  right 
arm  was  in  a  sling,  and  whose  face  looked  pale  and  thin 
from  his  recent  confinement  in  hospital.  Altogether  he 
was  very  interesting  in  his  character  as  a  wounded  sol- 
dier. Rose  thought,  as  she  made  an  impetuous  rush  at 
him,  nearly  strangling  him  with  her  vehement  joy  at 
having  him  home  again.  And  Jimmie  was  very  glad  to 
see  her, — glad,  too,  to  meet  his  mother, — but  his  eyes 
kept  constantly  watching  the  door,  and  wandering  down 
the  hall,  as  if  in  quest  of  some  one  who  did  not  come. 
During  the  weary  days  he  had  passed  in  the  George- 
tovm  Hospital,  Annie  Graham's  face  had  been  constant- 
ly with  him,  and  as  he  watched  the  tall,  wiry  figure  of  the 
nurse,  who  always  wore  a  sun-bonnet  and  had  a  pin  be- 
tween her  teeth,  he  kept  wishing  that  it  was  Annie,  and 
even  worked  himself  into  a  passion  against  his  sister 
Rose,  who,  in  one  of  her  letters,  had  spoken  of  Annie's 
proposal  to  offer  herself  as  nurse,  and  her  violent  oppo- 
sition to  the  plan. 

"  If  Rose  had  minded  her  business  Annie  might  possi- 
bly have  been  in  this  very  ward,  instead  of  that  old 
maid  from  Massachusetts,  who  looks  for  all  the  world 
like  those  awful  good  women  in  Boston,  who  don't  wear 
hoops,  and  who  distribute  tracts  on  Sundays  in  the 
vicinity  of  Comhill.  VThj  can't  a  woman  look  decent, 
and  distribute  tracts,  too  ?  Annie,  in  her  black  dress, 
with  her  hair  done  up  somehow,  would  do  more  good  to 
us  poor  invalids  than  forty  strong-minded  females  in 
paste-board  bonnets,  with  an  everlasting  piu  between 
their  teeth.'* 

Thus  Jimmie  fretted  about  Rose,  and  the  Massachu- 
setts woman,  who,  in  spite  of  her  big  pin  and  paste- 
board bonnet,  brought  him  many  a  nice  dish  of  tea  or 


THE  WOUNDED  SOLDIEIL  271 

bowl  of  soup,  until  the  order  came  for  him  to  go  home, 
when,  with  an  alacrity  which  almost  behed  the  languor 
and  weakness  he  had  complained  of  so  bitterly,  he  packed 
his  valise  and  started  again  for  Kockland.  This  time  he 
wore  the  "army  blue;"  but  the  suit  which  at  first  had 
been  so  fresh  and  clean,  was  soiled,  and  worn,  and  hate- 
ful to  the  fastidious  young  man,  who  only  endured  it  be- 
cause he  fancied  it  might  in  some  way  commend  him  to 
Annie  Graham.  Kose  had  written  that  she  worshiped 
the  very  name  of  a  soldier,  especially  if  he  were  a  poor 
private,  her  sympathies  being  specially  enlisted  for  that 
class  of  people.  And  Jimmie  was  a  poor  private,  and  a 
wounded  one  at  that,  with  his  arm  in  a  shng,  and  a  cane 
in  his  hand,  and  his  curly  hair  cut  short,  and  his  coat 
all  wrinkled  and  soiled,  and  his  knapsack  on  his  back  ; 
and  he  was  going  home  to  Annie,  who  surely  would  wel- 
come him  now,  and  hold  his  hand  a  moment,  and  possi- 
bly dress  his  wound.  That  would  be  delightful;  and 
Jimmie's  blood  went  tingling  through  his  veins  as  he  felt 
in  fancy  tlie  soft  touch  of  Annie's  fingers  upon  his  flesh, 
and  saw  her  head  crowned  with  the  pale-brown  hair 
bending  over  him.  He  felt  a  little  disappointment  that 
she  was  not  at  the  depot  to  meet  him,  while  his*  chagrin 
increased  at  the  tardiness  of  her  appearance  after  his 
arrival  home,  but  she  was  coming  at  last,  and  Jimmie's 
quick  ear  caught  the  rustle  of  her  garments  as  she  came 
down  the  stairs  and  into  the  room,  smihng  and  blushing, 
as  she  took  his  offered  hand,  and  begged  him  not  to  rise 
for  her. 

"You  are  lame  yet,  I  see.  I  had  hoped  your  ankle 
might  be  well,"  she  said,  glancing  at  his  cane,  which  he 
carried  more  from  habit,  and  because  it  had  been  given 
him  by  an  officer,  than  from  any  real  necessity. 

His  sprained  ankle  was  almost  well,  and  only  troubled 


272  ROSE  MATHER. 

him  at  times;  but  after  Annie's  look  of  commiseration  at 
the  cane,  and  her  evident  intention  to  pity  him  for  hia 
ankle  rather  than  his  ann,  he  found  it  vastly  easy  to  be 
lame  again,  and  even  made  some  excuse  to  cross  the 
room  in  order  to  show  off  the  limp  which  had  not  been 
very  perceptible  when  he  first  came  in.  And  Annie  was 
very  sorry  for  him,  and  inquii'ed  with  a  great  deal  of 
interest  into  the  particulars  of  his  being  wounded,  and 
kindly  sat  where  he  could  look  directly  at  her,  and 
thought,  alas!  how  much  he  was  changed  from  the 
fashionably-dressed,  saucy-faced  young  man  who  went 
from  them  only  a  few  months  before.  Short  hair  was 
not  becoming  to  him, — neither  was  his  thin,  burnt  face, 
— neither  was  that  soiled  blue  coat;  and  he  looked  as 
little  as  possible  like  a  hero  whom  maidens  could  wor- 
ship. Some  such  thought  passed  through  Annie's  mind, 
while  Rose,  too,  felt  the  change  in  her  handsome  brother, 
and,  with  a  puzzled  expression  on  her  face,  said  to  him, 
as  she  stood  by  his  side: 

"How  queer  you  do  look,  with  your  hair  so  short,  and 
the  hollows  in  your  cheeks!  Does  icar  change  all  the 
boys  so  much  ?     Are  Tom  and  Will  such  fi'ights  ?" 

"  Rose  !"  Mrs.  Carleton  said,  reprovingly,  while  Annie 
looked  up  in  surprise,  pitying  Jimmie,  whose  chin  quiv- 
ered even  more  than  his  voice,  as  he  said  : 

"  Tom  and  Will  have  not  been  sick  Hke  me;  and  then, 
— there's  no  denying  it, — officers  have  easier  times,  as  a 
general  thing,  than  privates.  I  do  not  mean,  by  that, 
that  I  regTet  my  position,  for  I  do  not.  Somebody  must 
take  a  private's  place,  and  it  would  better  be  I  than  a 
great  many  others;  but.  Rose,  I  shall  regret  it,  perhaps, 
if  by  the  means  my  looks  become  obnoxious  to  my  sister 
and  friends." 

There  was  a  marked  emphasis  on  the  v^ord  friends,  and 


THE  WOUNDED  SOLDIEE.  273 

Jimmie's  eyes  went  over  P-ppealingly  to  Annie,  wlio  re- 
membered how  proud  the  boy  Dick  Lee  used  to  be  of  his 
beauty,  and  guessed  how  Eose's  remarks  must  have 
wounded  him.  Eose  suspected  it,  too,  and  winding  her 
arms  around  his  neck  she  tried  to  apologize. 

"  Forgive  me,  Jimmie,"  she  said;  "  I  did  not  mean 
anything;  only  your  hair  is  so  short, — just  like  the  con- 
victs at  Charlestown, — and  your  coat  is  so  tumbled  and 
dirty;  but  Hannah  can  wash  that,  or  I  can  buy  you  a 
new  one,"  and  Eose  stumbled  on,  making  matters  ten 
times  worse,  until  IMrs.  Carleton  succeeded  in  turning 
the  conversation  upon  something  besides  her  son's  per- 
sonal appearance. 

Annie  was  very  sorry  for  him,  and  her  sympathy  ex- 
pressed itself  in  the  soft  Hght  of  her  blue  eyes  which 
rested  so  kindly  upon  him,  and  in  the  low,  gentle  cadence 
of  her  voice  when  she  addressed  him,  and  her  eager 
haste  to  bring  him  whatever  she  thought  he  wanted,  and 
so  save  him  the  pain  of  walking ! 

Mrs.  Carleton  saw  through  that  ruse  at  once.  She  had 
noticed  no  limp  when  Jimmie  first  came  in,  and  she 
readily  suspected  why  it  was  put  on.  But  it  was  not  for 
her  to  expose  her  son.  From  a  lady  who  had  spent  a 
few  days  at  the  Mather  House,  and  who  once  lived  near 
Hartford,  Mrs.  Carleton  had  learned  that  the  Dr.  How- 
ard, who  had  died  of  cholera  in  '49,  was  highly  respected, 
both  as  a  gentleman  and  a  practising  physician,  and  this 
had  helped  to  reconcile  her  in  a  great  measure  to  what- 
ever might  result  from  her  son's  evident  liking  for  An- 
■nie  Graham,  nee  Annie  Howard,  and  as  she  more  than 

alf  suspected,  the  heroine  of  Jimmie's  boyish  fancy. 

How  very  beautiful  Jimmie  thought  Annie  was,  after 
he  had  had  time  to  recover  himself  a  little  and  look  at  her 
closely.     She  was  in  better  health,  and  certainly  in  bet< 


274  EOSE  MATHER. 

ter  spirits  than  when  he  saw  her  last.  Her  cheeks  were 
rounder,  her  eyes  were  brighter,  and  her  hair  more  lux- 
uriant, and  worn  more  in  accordance  with  the  prevailing 
style.  This  was  Rose's  doings,  as  was  also  the  increased 
length  of  Annie's  dress,  which  swept  the  floor  with  so 
long  a  trail  that  the  Widow  Simms  had  made  it  the  sub- 
ject of  sundry  insidious  remarks. 

"  Needn't  tell  her  that  a  widder  could  wear  such  lono-. 
switchin'  gowns,  and  think  just  as  much  of  the  gi-ave  by 
the  gate.  She  knew  bettei*,  and  Miss  Graham  was  be- 
ginnin'  to  get  frillicky.  She  could  see  through  a  mill- 
stone." 

This  was  Mrs.  Simms*  opinion  of  the  long  gored  dress 
which  Jimmie  noticed  at  once,  admiring  the  graceful, 
symmetrical  appearance  it  gave  to  Annie's  figure,  just  as 
he  admired  the  softening  effect  which  the  plain  white 
collar  and  cuffs  had  upon  Annie's  dress.  When  he  was 
home  before,  everything  about  her  was  black  of  the  deep- 
est dye  ;  but  now  the  sombreness  of  her  attire  was 
relieved  somewhat,  and  Jimmie  liked  the  change.  He 
could  look  at  her  without  seeing  constantly  before  him 
the  grave  by  the  churchyard  gate,  where  slept  the  man 
whose  widow  she  was.  She  did  not  seem  like  a  widow, 
she  was  so  young  ;  only  twenty-one,  as  Jimmie  knew 
from  Eose,  who,  delighted  with  the  friendly  meeting  be- 
tween her  brother  and  friend,  was  again  building  castles 
of  what  might  be.  Could  Rose  have  had  her  choice  in  the 
matter,  she  would  have  selected  Tom  for  Annie.  He 
was  older,  steadier,  while  his  letters  seemed  very  much 
like  Annie.  Tom  had  found  the  Saviour  of  whom  Isaac 
Simms  once  talked  so  earnestly  in  the  prison  house  at 
Richmond.  He  was  better  than  Jimmie,  Rose  reasoned, 
and  more  likely  to  suit  Annie.  Still,  if  it  Were  to  be 
otherwise,  she  was  satisfied,  and  in  a  quiet  way  she  aided 


THE  wou:n"ded  soldier.  275 

and  abetted  Jimmie  in  all  his  plans  to  be  frequently  alone 
with  Annie.  It  was  Annie  who  rode  with  him  when 
Mrs.  Carleton  was  indisposed,  and  Kose  did  not  care  to 
go, — Annie  who  read  to  him  the  books  which  Rose  pro- 
nounced too  stupid  for  anything, — Annie  who  brought 
his  cane,  and  Annie  who  finally  attended  to  his  wounded 
arm.  The  physician  did  not  come  one  day;  Mrs.  Carle- 
ton  was  sick ;  and  Rose  positively  could  not  touch  it, 
and  so  Annie  timidly  offered  her  services,  and  Jim- 
mie knew  from  actual  experience  just  how  her  soft 
fingers  felt  upon  his  arm,  his  pulse  throbbing  and  the 
blood  tingling  in  every  vein  as  she  dressed  his  wound 
so  carefully,  asking  anxiously  if  she  hurt  him  very  badly. 
He  would  have  suffered  martyrdom  sooner  than  lose  the 
opportunity  of  feeling  those  soft  fingers  upon  his  flesh, 
and  so  it  came  about  that  Annie  was  his  surgeon,  and 
ministered  daily  to  the  wound  which  healed  far  too 
rapidly  to  suit  the  young  man,  who  began  to  shrink 
from  a  return  to  the  life  he  had  found  so  irksome. 

Tom  had  written  twice  for  him  to  come  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  now  only  one  day  more  remained  of  the 
month  he  was  to  spend  at  home.  The  Widow  Simms 
was  ready  to  go  with  him ;  Susan  had  gone  to  her 
mother,  and  the  cottage  was  to  be  closed,  subject  to  a 
continual  oversight  from  Mrs.  Baker  and  an  occasional 
inspection  from  both  Rose  and  Annie.  The  hox  which 
Isaac  had  hidden  in  the  barn,  waiting  for  the  bonfii-e 
which  should  celebrate  our  nation's  final  victory,  had 
been  brought  from  its  hiding-place,  and  baptized  with 
the  first  and  only  tears  the  widow  had  shed  since  she 
went  back  to  her  humble  home  and  left  him  in  the  grave- 
yard. Sacred  to  her  was  that  box,  and  she  put  it  with 
her  best  table  and  chairs,  bidding  Annie  Graham  see 
that  no  harm  befell  it,  and  saying  to  her,  "In  case  I 


276  ROSE  MATHER 

never  come  back,  and  peace  is  declared,  burn  the  box  for 
Isaac's  sake,  right  there  on  the  grass-plat,  which  he 
dreamed  about  in  Kichmond." 

And  Annie  promised  all,  as  she  packed  the  widow's 
trunk,  putting  in  many  little  dainties  which  Rose  Mather 
had  suppUed,  and  which  were  destined  for  the  soldiers 
whom  the  widow  was  to  nurse.  She  had  been  all  day 
with  Mrs.  Simms,  and  Rose  had  been  back  and  forth 
with  her  packages,  curtailing  her  calls  because  of  Jimmie, 
with  whom  she  would  spend  as  much  time  as  possible. 

Jimmie  was  not  in  a  very  social  mood  that  day;  the 
house  was  very  lonely  without  Annie,  and  the  young  man 
did  nothing  but  walk  from  one  window  to  another,  look- 
ing always  in  the  direction  of  Widow  Simms',  and 
scarcely  heeding  at  all  what  either  his  mother  or  sister 
were  saying  to  him.  When  it  began  to  grow  dark,  and 
he  heard  Rose  speak  of  sending  the  carriage  for  Annie 
as  she  had  promised  to  do,  he  said : 

"I  ought  to  see  Mrs.  Simms  myself  to-night,  and  know 
if  everything  is  in  readiness  for  to-morrow.  I  will  go  for 
Mrs.  Graham,  and  Rose, — don't  order  the  carriage, — 
there  is  a  fine  moon,  and  she, — that  is, — I  would  rather 
walk." 

Jimmie  spoke  hurriedly,  and  something  in  his  manner 
betrayed  to  Rose  the  reason  why  he  preferred  to  walk. 

"Oh,  Jimmie!"  she  exclaimed,  "I'm  so  glad;  tell  her 
so  for  me.  I  thought  at  first  you  did  not  like  each 
other,  and  everything  was  going  wrong.  I  am  so  glad; 
though  I  had  picked  her  out  for  Tom.  I  'most  know  he 
fancied  her,  and  then  he  is  a  widower.  It  would  be 
more  suitable." 

Rose  meant  nothing  disparaging  to  Jimmie's  suit. 
She  did  thiak  Tom,  with  his  thirty-two  years,  better 
suited  to  Annie,  who  had  been  a  wife,  than  saucy-faced, 


THE  WOUNDED  SOLDIEK.  277 

teasing  Jimmie  of  only  twenty-four.  But  love  never 
consults  the  suitability  of  a  thing,  and  Jimmie  was  des- 
perately in  love  by  this  time.  It  was  not  possible  for 
one  of  his  temperament  to  Hve  a  whole  month  with  An- 
nie as  he  had  lived,  and  not  be  in  love  with  her.  Her 
graceful  beauty,  brightened  by  the  auxiliaries  of  dress 
and  improved  health,  and  the  thousand  httle  attentions 
she  paid  him  just  because  he  was  a  soldier,  had  finished 
the  work  begun  when  he  was  home  before,  and  he  could 
not  go  back  without  hearing  from  her  own  Hps  whether 
there  was  any  hope  for  him, — the  scamp,  the  scapegrace, 
the  rebel,  as  he  had  been  called  by  turns.  "What  Kose 
said  of  Tom  brought  a  shadow  to  his  face,  and  as 
he  walked  rapidly  toward  Widow  Simms',  not  Hmping 
now,  or  scarcely  touching  his  cane  to  the  ground,  he 
thought  of  Tom, — old  Tom  he  called  him, — wondering 
how  much  he  had  been  interested  in  Annie  Graham,  and 
asking  himself  if  it  were  just  the  thing  for  him  to  take 
advantage  of  Tom's  absence,  and  supplant  him  in  the 
affections  of  one  whom  he  might,  perhaps,  have  won  had 
he  an  opportunity. 

"  But  Tom  has  had  his  day,"  Jimmie  thought.  "  He 
can't  expect  another  wife  as  nice  as  Mary  was,  and  it  is 
only  fair  for  me  to  try  my  luck.  I  never  loved  any  one 
before." 

Jimmie  stopped  suddenly  here;  stopped  in  his  solilo- 
quy and  his  walk,  and  looking  up  into  the  starry  sky, 
thought  of  the  boy  at  New  London,  and  the  hills  beyond, 
and  the  hotel  on  the  beach,  and  the  white-robed  httle 
figure  with  the  blue  ribbons  in  the  golden  hair,  and  the 
soft  Hght  in  the  violet  eyes,  which  used  to  watch  for  his 
coming,  and  look  so  bright  and  yet  so  modest  withal 
when  he  came.     Louise  her  aunt  had  called  her,  and  he 


278  ROSE   MATHER. 

had  designated  her  as  Lu,  or  Lulu,  just  as  the  fancy 
took  him. 

"  I  did  love  her  some,"  Jimmie  thought.  "  Yes,  I  loved 
her  as  well  as  a  boy  of  seventeen  is  capable  of  loving, 
and  I  deceived  her  shabbily.  I  wonder  where  she  is  ? 
She  must  be  twenty  or  more  by  this  time,  and  a  woman 
much  like  Annie.  If  I  could  lind  her,  who  knows  that  I 
might  not  like  her  best  ?"  And  for  a  moment  Jimmie 
revolved  the  propriety  of  leaving  Annie  to  Tom,  while 
he  sought  for  his  first  love  of  the  Pequot  House. 

But  Annie  Graham  had  made  too  strong  an  impres- 
sion upon  him  to  be  given  up  for  a  former  love,  who 
might  be  dead  for  aught  he  knew,  and  so  Tom  was  cast 
overboard,  and  Jimmie  resumed  his  walk  in  the  direction 
of  Widow  Simms'  cottage. 

The  widow's  trunks  were  all  packed  and  ready  :  every 
thing  was  done  in  the  cottage  which  Annie  could  do,  and 
with  a  tired  flush  on  her  cheek,  a  tumbled  look  about 
her  hair,  and  a  rent  in  the  black  di-ess,  made  by  a  nail  on 
one  of  the  boxes,  Annie  was  waiting  for  the  carriage,  and 
half  wishing,  as  she  loked  out  into  the  bright  moonlight, 
that  she  was  going  to  walk  home  instead  of  riding.  The 
fresh  air  would  do  her  good,  she  thought,  just  as  Jimmie 
appeared  at  the  door.  He  had  come  to  see  if  there  was 
anything  he  could  do  for  Mrs.  Simms,  he  said,  and  to  es- 
cort Mrs.  Graham  home. 

Annie's  cheeks  were  very  red  as  she  went  for  her  shawl, 
and  then  bade  good  bye  to  Mrs.  Simms,  whom  she  did 
not  expect  to  see  on  the  morrow.  As  soon  as  they  were 
outside  the  gate,  Jimmie  drew  her  shawl  close  round  her 
neck,  and  taking  her  arm  in  his,  said  to  her:  "  The  night  is 
very  fine  and  warm,  too,  for  the  first  of  November.  You 
won't  mind  taking  the  longest  route  home,  I  am  sure,  as 
it  is  the  last  time  I  may  ever  walk  with  you,  and  there  is 


THE   WOUNDED  SOLDIER  279 

something  I  must  tell  you  before  I  go  back  to  danger  and 
possible  death," 

He  had  turned  into  a  long,  grassy  lane  or  newly  open- 
ed street,  where  there  were  but  few  houses  yet,  and  An- 
nie knew  the  route  would  at  least  be  a  mile  out  of  the  way, 
but  she  could  not  resist  the  man  who  held  her  so  closely 
to  his  side.  She  must  hear  what  he  had  to  say,  and  with 
an  upward  glance  at  the  clear  blue  sky  where  she  fancied 
George  was  looking  down  upon  her,  she  nerved  herself 
to  listen. 

"Annie," he  began,  "I've  called  you  Mrs.  Graham  here- 
tofore, but  for  to-night  you  must  be  Annie,  even  if  you" 
give  me  no  right  to  call  you  by  that  name  again.  Annie, 
I  have  been  a  scamp,  a  wretch,  a  rebel,  and  almost  every- 
thing bad.  I  deceived  a  young  girl  in  New  London  years 
ago  when  I  was  a  boy.  Eose  told  you  something  about  it 
once.  Her  name  was  Louise, — Lulu  I  called  her, — and  I 
made  her  think  I  loved  her." 

"And  didn't  you  love  her?"  Annie  asked  suddenly, 
her  voice  ringing  clear  in  the  still  night  and  making  Jim- 
raie  start,  there  was  something  so  quiet  and  determined 
in  its  tone. 

Still  he  had  no  suspicion  that  the  woman  beside  him 
was  the  girl  he  had  left  on  the  beach  at  New  London, 
and  he  continued :  "Yes,  Annie,  I  did,  as  boys  of  seven- 
teen love  girls  of  fourteen.  She  was  pretty  and  soft,  and 
pure  and  good,  and  I  kissed  her  once  on  her  forehead, 
and  then  I  went  away  and  never  saw  her  after,  or  knew 
what  became  of  her.  And  I  am  telling  you  this  by  way  of 
confessing  my  misdeeds,  for  I've  been  a  fast  and  reck- 
less young  man.  I've  gambled,  and  sneered  at  the 
Bible,  and  broken  the  Sabbath  heaps  of  times,  and  flirted 
with  more  than  forty  girls,  some  of  them  not  very  respec- 
table  either,  and  none   as  pure  as  little  Lulu.     I  ran 


280  ROSE   MATHER. 

away  from  home  and  nearly  broke  my  mother's  heart.  I 
joined  the  rebel  army  and  fought  against  my  brother  at 
the  battle  of  Bull  Kun.  I  was  captured  by  Bill  Baker 
and  led  with  a  halter  to  Washington  and  there  shut  up 
in  prison.  A  fine  character  I  give  myself,  and  yet  after  all 
this  I  have  dared  to  love  you,  Annie  Graham,  and  I  have 
brought  you  this  way  to  ask  if  you  will  be  my  wife.  Not 
now,  of  course  :  not  before  I  go  back ;  but  if  I  come 
through  the  war  alive  will  you  be  mine  then,  Annie? 
Tell  me,  darhng,  and  don't  tremble  so,  or  turn  your  face 
away." 
*•  Annie  was  shaking  in  every  joint,  and  the  face  which 
Jimmie  tried  in  vain  to  see  was  white  as  ashes.  She  had 
expected  something  hke  this  when  he  led  her  down  that 
grassy  lane,  but  nevertheless  it  came  to  her  with  a  shock, 
making  her  feel  as  if  in  some  way  she  had  injured  her 
dead  husband  by  hstening  to  another's  love.  And  still  she 
could  not  at  once  repulse  the  young  man  whose  arm  was 
around  her,  and  who  had  drawn  her  to  a  gap  in  a  stone 
wall,  where  he  made  her  sit  down  while  she  answered 
him.  Strange  feelings  had  swept  over  her  as  she  heard 
Jimmie  Carleton's  voice  telling  her  how  much  she  was 
beloved, — how  fi'om  the  first  moment  he  saw  her  he  had 
been  interested  in  her,  and  asking  her  again  if  she  had 
anything  to  give  the  "  recreant  Jim." 

He  said  the  last  playfully,  but  there  was  a  great  fear  at 
his  heart  lest  her  silence  portended  evil  to  him. 

"  No,  Mr.  Carleton.  I  have  no  heart  to  give  you.  1 
buried  it  with  George  ;  I  can  never  love  another.  For- 
give me  if  in  any  way  I  have  misled  you.  I  was  only 
kind  to  you  as  I  would  be  to  any  soldier." 

"Bill  Baker,  for  instance,"  came  savagely  fi'om  Jimmie*s 
lips. 

He  was  cruelly  disappointed,  for  he  had  not  believed 


THE  WOUNDED   SOLDIER.  281 

Annie  would  refuse  him  as  she  had  done.  He  thought  a 
good  deal  of  himself  as  a  Carlefon.  Nay,  he  belieyed  him- 
self superior  to  the  man  who  was  standing  between  him 
and  the  woman  he  coveted,  and  to  be  so  decidedly  refused 
by  one  who  had  been  content  with  a  person  in  George 
Graham's  position  angered  him  for  a  moment.  Annie 
knew  he  was  offended,  and  when  he  spoke  of  Bill  Baker, 
she  said  to  him  gently  : 

"  You  mistake  me,  Mr.  Carleton.  If  necessary,  I  could 
do  for  William  Baker  more  than  I  have  done  for  you  ; 
but  it  would  only  be  from  a  sense  of  duty, — there  would 
be  no  pleasure  in  it ;  while  caring  for  you  was  a  pleas- 
ure, because  you  are  IVIrs.  Mather's  brother,  and  because, — 
because — " 

She  did  not  know  how  to  finish  the  sentence,  for  she 
could  not  herself  tell  why  it  had  of  late  been  so  pleasant 
for  her  to  do  for  Jimmie  Carleton  those  Httle  acts  of 
kindness  which  had  devolved  on  her.  She  was  only  in- 
terested in  him  as  a  soldier,  she  insisted,  and  she  tried 
to  make  him  understand  that  her  decision  was  final ; 
that  were  George  dead  a  dozen  years,  she  should  give  him 
the  same  answer  as  she  did  now.  She  could  not  be  his 
wife.  And  Jimmie  understood  it  at  last,  and  by  the  ter- 
rible pangs  of  disappointment  which  crept  over  him,  the 
Pequot  girl  was  fully  avenged  for  the  many  times  she  had 
watched  from  her  window  of  the  hotel,  or  walked  sadly 
along  the  road  by  the  bay  to  see  if  Dick  Lee  were  coming. 
But  Annie  had  no  wish  for  revenge.  She  was  only  sorry 
for  him,  and  she  tried  to  comfort  him  with  the  assurance 
of  her  interest  in  him,  and  by  telhng  him  that,  if  ever  he 
was  sick  in  hospital  or  camp,  and  unable  to  come  home, 
she  would  surely  go  to  him  as  readily  as  if  he  were  her 
brother. 

Jimmie  did  not  particularly  care  for  such  comforting 


282  BOSE    MATHER. 

then,  and  his  face,  -when  he  reached  home,  wore  so  dark 
and  sorry  a  look  that  Rose,  knew  at  once  that  something 
•was  wrong ;  but  she  refrained  fi'om  asking  any  questions 
then, — feehng  intuitively  that  both  Annie  and  her  brother 
would  prefer  to  have  her  do  so. 

It  was  a  very  grave,  silent  party  which  met  at  the 
breakfast  table  next  morning,  and  only  Annie  was  at  all  in- 
clined to  talk.  She  tried  to  be  cheerful  and  appear  as  usual 
to  the  silent  young  man  who  never  looked  at  her  as  she  sat 
opposite  him,  with  her  smooth  bands  of  hair  so  becom- 
iQgly  arranged,  and  her  eyes  so  full  of  pity  for  him.  She 
could  not  revoke  her  decision,  but  she  was  son*y  to  send 
him  fi'om  her  with  that  look  upon  his  face  ;  and  when, 
after  breakfast,  she  met  him  for  a  few  moments  alone  in 
the  Hbrary,  she  laid  her  hand  timidly  upon  his  arm,  and 
said,  "  Jimmie,  don't  be  angry  with  me.  Try  to  think  of 
me  as  your  sister, — your  best  friend,  if  you  hke.  It  grieves 
me  that  I  have  made  you  so  unhappy." 

She  had  never  called  him  Jimmie  before,  in  his  hearing, 
and  as  she  did  it  now,  the  dark,  handsome  face  into  which 
she  was  looking,  flushed  with  a  sudden  joy,  as  if  he  thought 
she  were  relenting.  But  she  was  not;  she  could  only  be 
his  fi'iend, — ^his  best  fiiend,  she  re^Deated,  and  her  face 
was  vei-y  pale,  as  she  told  him  how  she  should  remem- 
ber him,  and  work  for  him,  and  pray  for  him,  when  he 
was  gone.  And  then  she  gave  him  her  hand,  saying  to 
him,  "  It  is  nearly  time  for  you  to  go.  I  would  rather  say 
good-bye  here." 

And  Jimmie  took  her  hand,  and,  pressing  it  between 
his  own,  said  to  her  : 

"  You  have  hurt  me  cruelly,  Annie  Graham,  for  I  be- 
lieved you  cared  for  me  ;  but  I  cannot  hate  you  for  it, 
though  I  tried  to  do  so  aU  night  long.  I  love  you  just  the 
same  as  ever,  and  always  shall.     Eemember  your  prom- 


TOM  AND  JIMMIE.  283 

ise  to  come  to  me  when  I  am  sick,  and  let  me  kiss  you 
ODce  for  the  sake  of  what  I  hoped  might  be." 

She  did  not  refuse  his  request  ;  and  when  at  last  he 
left  her  there  was  a  red  spot  on  her  cheek  where  Jimmie 
Carleton's  lips  had  been.  From  her  window  she  watch- 
ed him  going  down  the  walk ;  and  while  with  widow 
Simms  he  waited  at  the  depot  for  the  coming  of  the  train, 
she  on  her  knees  was  praying  for  him  and  his  safety,  just 
as,  eighteen  months  before,  she  prayed  for  George  when 
he  was  going  from  her. 


CHAPTER  XXTTT. 

TOM      AND      JIMMIE. 

JMIMTE'S  journey  was  performed  in  safety,  and 
he  won  golden  opinions  from  his  traveling  com- 
panion, for  whom  he  had  cared  as  kindly  as  if  it 
had  been  his  mother  instead  of  the  "crabbed  widow "  in 
her  eternal  leghorn,  with  the  vail  of  faded  gTeen.  He 
had  left  her  at  one  of  the  hospitals  in  Washington,  where 
she  was  to  begin  her  work  as  nurse,  and  hastened  on  to 
join  his  regiment.  Captain  Carleton  was  glad  to  welcome 
back  the  brother  whom  he  had  missed  so  much,  but  he 
saw  that  something  was  wrong  ;  and  that  night,  as  they 
sat  around  the  tent  fire,  he  asked  what  it  was,  and  why 
the  face,  usually  so  bright  and  cheerful,  seemed  so  sober 
and  sad.  Tom  had  made  minute  inquiries  concerning 
his  mother,  and  Rose,  and  Susan  Simms,  and  even  poor 
old  Mrs.  Baker.  But  not  a  word  of  Annie.  He  could 
not  speak  of  her,  with  that  unfinished  letter  lying  in  his 
little  travelling   writing-case, — that  letter  commencing 


284  ROSE  MATHER. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Graham,"  and  over  the  wording  of  which 
Tom  had  spent  more  time  by  far  than  he  did  over  the  first 
epistle  sent  to  Mary  WiUiams.  That  had  been  dashed  off 
in  all  the  heat  of  a  young  man's  first  ardent  passion,  just 
as  Jimmie  two  weeks  ago  would  have  written  to  Annie. 
But  Tom  was  eight  years  older  than  Jimmie.  His  first 
love  had  met  its  full  fi-uition,  and  Mary,  the  object,  was 
dead.  Tom  had  always  been  old  for  his  years.  He  look- 
ed, and  seemed,  and  felt,  full  forty  now,  save  when  he 
thought  of  Annie,  who  was  only  twenty-one.  Then  he 
went  back  to  thirty-two,  glad  that  he  had  numbered 
no  more  birth-days.  He  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
write  to  her.  A  fi'iendly  letter  the  first  should  be,  he 
said, — a  letter  merely  asking  if  she  would  correspond  -v^^th 
him,  and  hinting  at  the  interest  he  had  felt  in  her  ever 
since  he  saw  how  much  she  was  to  Rose,  and  how  con- 
stant were  her  labors  for  the  suffering  soldiers.  If  her 
answer  was  favorable,  he  should  ere  long  ask  her  to  be 
his  wife,  and  this  is  the  way  he  took  to  win  the  woman 
whose  name  he  would  not  mention  to  his  brother.  He 
had  been  a  Httle  uneasy  when  Jimmie  first  went  home, 
for  he  knew  how  popular  the  wayward  youth  was  with 
all  the  ladies ;  but  as  Eose  had  never  written  a  word  to 
strengthen  him  in  his  fears,  he  had  thrown  them  aside 
and  commenced  the  letter  which  to-night,  after  Jimmie 
was  gone,  he  was  intending  to  finish  for  the  morrow's 
mail.  He  changed  his  mind,  however,  as  the  night  wore 
on,  for  in  reply  to  his  question  as  to  what  was  the  matter, 
Jimmie  had  burst  out  impetuously  with, 

"It  is  all  over  with  me  and  the  widow.  I  went  in 
strong  for  her,  Tom.  I  told  her  all  my  badness,  con- 
fessed everything  I  could,  and  then  she  said  it  could  not 
be.  I  teU  you,  Tom,  I  did  not  know  a  man  could  be  so 
sore  about  a  woman!"    And  with  a  great  choking  sob 


TOM  AND  JIMMIE.  285 

Jimmie   Carleton   laid  his  head  upon   Tom's  lap,  and 
moaned  like  some  wounded  animaL 

Tom,  who  had  been  as  a  father  to  this  younger  brother, 
was  touched  to  his  heart's  core,  and  felt  as  if  by  haying 
that  unfinished  letter  in  his  possession  he  was  in  some 
way  guilty,  and  as  a  pitying  woman  would  have  done,  he 
smoothed  the  dark  curly  hair,  and  tried  to  speak  words 
of  comfort. 

"What  had  Annie  said?  Perhaps  she  might  relent. 
Would  Jimmie  tell  him  about  it  ?" 

Then  Jimmie  lifted  up  his  head,  and  looking  straight^ 
in  Tom's  eyes,  said, 

"Forgive  me,  old  Tom.  I  was  inchned  to  be  jealous 
of  you.  Rose  said  you  were  more  suitable,  and  I  know 
30U  are;  but,  Tom,  I  did  love  Annie  so  much,  after  I 
had  swaUowed  the  first  husband,  which  cost  me  a  great 
effort,  for  a  widow  is  not  the  beau  ideal  I  used  to  cherish 
of  my  future  wife.  Tom,  you  don't  care  for  Annie,  do 
you  ?"  he  continued,  in  a  startled  tone,  as  something  in 
Tom's  face  affrighted  him. 

Tom  would  not  deceive  him  then,  and  he  rephed, 

"I  have, — that  is,— yes,  I  do  care  for  her,  and  I  had 

commenced  a  letter,  but *' 

"  Don't  finish  it,  Tom.  Do  this  for  me,— don't  finish 
it!"  Junmie  exclaimed,  eagerly,  knowing  now  how  the 
hope  that  Annie  might  relent  had  buoyed  him  up,  and 
kept  him  from  utter  despondency.  "  Don't  send  it,  Tom ; 
leave  her  to  me,  if  I  can  win  her  yet.  She  may  feel  dif- 
ferently by  and  by:  her  husband  is  only  one  year  dead. 
Let  me  have  Annie,  Tom,"  and  Jimmie  grew  more  vehe- 
ment as  he  saw  plainly  the  struggle  in  Tom's  mind. 
"  You've  had  your  day  with  Mary.  Think  of  your  years 
of  married  life,  when  you  were  so  happy,  and  leave  Annie 


286  ROSE    MATHER. 

to  me.     At  least  don't  try  to  get  her  from  me, — ^not  yet, — 
wait  a  year.     Will  you,  Tom  ?" 

"  Few  could  resist  Jimmie  Carleton's  pleadings  when 
they  were  so  earnest  as  now;  and  generous  Tom  yielded 
to  the  boy,  whom  he  had  scolded,  and  whipped,  and 
disciplined,  and  loved,  and  grieved  over,  ever  since  the 
day  their  father  died  and  left  him  the  head  of  the  fam- 

ily. 

"I  wiU  wait  a  year  and  see  what  that  brings  to  us; 
and  you,  Jimmie,  must  do  the  same,  then  Annie  shall  de- 
cide," he  said  at  last,  and  his  voice  was  so  steady  in  its 
tone,  and  his  manner  so  kind,  that  Jimmie  never  guessed 
how  much  it  cost  the  man  who  "  had  had  his  day,"  to 
unlock  the  Httle  desk  and  take  from  it  the  letter  intended 
for  Annie  Graham  and  commit  it  to  the  flames. 

They  watched  it  together  as  it  crisped  and  blackened 
on  the  coals,  neither  saying  a  word  or  stirring  until  the 
last  thin  flake  had  disappeared,  when  Tom  bent  to  pick 
up  something  which  had  dropped  from  the  desk,  when 
he  took  out  the  letter.  It  was  Mary's  picture,  and  in 
her  lap  the  baby  which  had  died  when  six  months  old. 

"  Yes,  I  have  had  my  day,"  Tom  thought,  as  he  gazed 
upon  the  fair,  sweet  face  of  her  whose  bright  head  had 
once  lain  where  he  had  thought  to  have  Annie's  he.  "I 
have  had  my  day,  and  though  it  closed  before  it  was 
noon,  I  will  not  interfere  with  Jimmie." 

And  so  the  compact  was  sealed  between  them,  and 
Jimmie  slept  sounder  on  his  soldier  bed  that  night  than 
he  had  slept  before  since  Annie's  refusal.  Jimmie  was 
not  selfish,  and  as  the  days  went  by  and  he  reflected 
more  and  more  upon  Tom's  generosity,  his  conscience 
smote  him  for  having  allowed  his  brother  to  sacrifice  his 
happiness  for  a  whim  of  his.  "  She  might  have  refused 
him,  too,  and  then  again  she  might  not;  at  all  events  he 


TOM  AND  JIMMIE.  287 

had  a  right  to  try  his  luck,"  Jimmie  reasoned,  until  at 
last  his  sense  of  justice  triumphed  and  he  wrote  to  Annie 
an  account  of  the  whole  transaction. 

"  It  was  mean  in  me  to  let  Tom  burn  the  letter,"  he 
said,  "but  I  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  his  win- 
ning what  I  had  lost,  and  so  Hke  a  coward  I  looked  on 
and  felt  a  thrill  of  satisfaction  when  I  saw  his  letter 
crisping  on  the  coals.  But  as  proof  that  I  have  repented 
of  that  selfish  act,  I  ask  you  plainly,  'Would  you  have  re- 
plied favorably  to  that  letter,  had  it  been  sent?'  If  so, 
tell  me  truly,  and  without  ever  betraying  the  fact  that  I 
have  written  to  you  on  the  subject,  I  will  manage  to 
have  Tom  write  again,  and  if  the  fates  shall  so  decree  I 
will  try  to  forget  that  gap  in  the  stone  waU  where  we 
sat  ^that  night  when  I  told  you  of  my  love." 

His  letter  found  Annie  sick  in  bed  from  the  effects  of 
a  severe  cold  which  kept  her  so  long  in  her  room  that  it 
was  not  till  just  on  the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Fredericksburg 
that  Jimmie  received  her  answer,  "I  should  say  No  to 
your  brother  just  as  I  did  to  you." 

This  was  what  Jimmie  read,  and  with  a  feeling  of  re- 
Hef  as  far  as  Tom  was  concerned,  he  crushed  the  few 
lines  into  his  pocket  and  went  on  with  his  preparations 
for  the  contest  at  Fredericksburg,  which  seemed  iuevitable, 
with  a  kind  of  recklessness  which  characterized  many  of 
our  soldiers.  Jimmie  had  heretofore  felt  no  fears  of  a 
battle.  The  bullet  which  might  strike  down  another 
would  not  harm  him,  and  he  charged  his  preservation 
mostly  to  Annie's  prayers  for  his  safety;  but  iu  this,  her 
last  brief  note,  she  had  not  said  so  much  as  "  God  bless 
you,"  and  Jimmie's  heart  beat  faster  as  he  thought  of 
the  impending  danger.  Jimmie  seldom  prayed,  but  if 
Annie  had  failed  him  he  must  try  what  he  could  do  for 
himself,  and  when  the  night  came  down  upon  that  vast 


288  BOSE  MATHEK. 

army  camping  in  the  woods  and  on  the  hillside,  it  looked 
on  one  young  face  upturned  to  the  wintry  sky,  and  the 
moaning  winds  carried  up  to  heaven  the  few  words  of 
prayer  which  Jimmie  Carleton  said. 

Oppressed  with  a  strange  feehng  of  foreboding,  he 
jjrayed  earnestly  that  God  would  blot  out  aU  his  mani- 
fold transgressions,  and  if  he  died, — grant  him  an  entrance 
into  heaven  where  Annie  was  sure  to  go.  Close  beside 
him  crouched  Bill,  who  Hstened  with  wonder  to  the 
*'Corp'ral,"  a  feeling  of  terror  beginning  to  creep  into 
his  own  heart  as  he  detected  the  accents  of  fear  in  his 
companion. 

"  I  say,  Corp'ral,"  he  began,  when  Jimmie's  devotions 
were  ended,  "  be  you  'fraid  of  somethin's  happenin'  to 
you  when  they  set  us  to  crossin'  that  darned  river,  and 
if  there  does,  shall  I  write  to  the  folks  and  the  gal  you 
mentioned  and  tell  'em  you  prayed  like  a  parson  the 
night  before  T' 

Jimmie  was  terribly  annoyed  with  Bill's  impertinence, 
and  for  a  man  who  had  just  been  praying  did  not  exer- 
cise as  much  Christian  forbearance  as  might  have  been 
expected.  A  harsh  "Mind  your  business!"  was  his  only 
reply,  which  Bill  received  with  a  good  humored,  "  Guess 
you'll  have  to  try  agin,  Corp'ral,  before  you  get  into  the 
right  frame;"  and  then  there  was  silence  between  them, 
and  the  night  crept  on  apace,  and  the  early  morning  be- 
gan to  break  and  the  wintry  sky  was  obscured  by  a 
thick,  dull  haze,  which  hid  for  a  time  our  soldiers  from 
view,  then  a  deadly  fire  of  musketry jrom  the  opposite 
bank  of  the  Rappahannock  was  opened  upon  them,  till 
they  fled  to  the  shelter  of  the  adjacent  hills,  where,  form- 
ing into  line,  they  again  went  back  to  the  laying  of  the 
pontoon  bridges,  while  the  roar  of  the  cannon  shook  the 
hiUs  and  told  to  the  listeners  miles  away  that  the  battle 
of  Fredericksburg  was  begun. 


EESULTS  OF  THE  BATTLF.  289 

CHAPTEK  XXrV. 

BESULTS    OF    THE    BATTLE. 


'HE  streets  of  KocMand  were  full  of  excited  peo- 
'  pie  when  the  news  fisst  reached  the  town  of  the 
V^  F  terrible  battle  which  had  left  so  many  slain 
upon  the  field,  and  desolated  so  many  hearths  both  North 
and  South.  Eose  Mather  wias  nearly  frantic,  for  Will 
she  knew  was  in  the  battle,  together  with  her  two  broth- 
ers, and  it  was  not  probable  that  all  three  would  escape 
unharmed.  Eagerly  she  grasped  the  paper  to  see  who 
was  killed,  wounded,  or  missing,  but  neither  of  the  three 
names  was  there,  and  she  began  to  hope  again,  and 
found  time  to  comfort  poor  Susan  Simms,  whose  husband 
was  also  in  the  fight,  and  who  had  gone  almost  mad  with 
the  fear  lest  he  should  be  killed. 

Two  days  passed,  and  then  there  came  a  telegram  from 
Tom,  and  Mrs.  Carleton,  who  read  it  first,  gave  a  low, 
moaning  cry,  while  Kose,  who  read  it  next,  uttered  a 
piercing  shriek,  and  fell  sobbing  into  Annie's  arms. 

"  Oh,  Will ! oh,  Will ! — my  husband !"  was  what  she 

said,  while  Mrs.  Carleton  uttered  Jimmie's  name,  and 
then  Annie  knew  that  harm  had  come  to  him,  and  plac- 
ing Eose  upon  the  sofa,  she  took  the  paper  from  Mrs. 
Carleton's  hand,  and  read: 

"Will  was  badly  wounded,  —lay  on  tlie  field  aU  night ;— Jimmie 

missing, — supposed  to  be  a  prisoner.     I  am  well. 

"T.  CAiii^ErroN." 

"Poor  Jimmie!"   Annie  whispered,  sadly,  her  heart 
throbbing  with  pity  for  the  young  man  who  had  gone 
tack  in  time  to  meet  so  sad  a  fate. 
13 


290  KOSE  MATHER. 

Never  tad  so  dark  a  day  dawned  upon  Rose  Mather 
as  that  -which  followed  the  arrival  of  Tom's  telegram,  but 
ere  its  close  there  came  a  message  of  hope  to  her.  Will 
had  been  taken  to  "Washington,  where  he  had  providen- 
tially fallen  into  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Simms,  who  sent  the 
joyful  news  that  "no  bones  were  broken,  and  he  was 
doing  well.*' 

"Oh,  Annie,  God  is  so  much  better  to  me  than  I  de- 
serve; I  must  love  Him  now,  and  I  will,  if  He  will  only 
send  Jimmie  back,"  Eose  said,  while  Annie's  heart  went 
up  in  a  prayer  of  thanksgiving  for  Mr.  Mather's  compar- 
ative safety,  and  then  went  out  after  the  poor  prisoner, 
whose  destination  was  as  yet  unknown. 

That  night  Rose  started  for  "Washington,  and  three 
days  after  there  came  to  Annie  a  soiled,  queer-looking 
missive,  directed  to  "  IVIiss  Widder  Anny  Graam,  At  Miss 
Martherses,"  the  name  vmtten  at  the  top  of  the  letter, 
and  the  superscription  spreading  over  so  much  surface, 
that,  had  there  been  another  word,  it  must,  from  neces- 
sity, have  been  written  on  the  other  side  of  the  letter. 
It  was  from  Bill  Baker,  and  it  read  as  follows: 

•'  Army  of  Potomac,  and  about  as  licked  ont  an  army  as  yon  ever 
seen.  To  all  it  may  concern,  and  'specially  lyiiss  Anny  Graam.  I 
send  you  my  regrets  greetin',  and  hopin'  this  will  find  you  enjoyin' 
the  same  great  blessin'.  Bumside  has  made  the  thunderinest  blun- 
der, and  more'n  a  million  of  our  boys  is  dead  before  Fredericksburgh. 
Mr.  Mathers  was  about  riddled  through,  I  guess,  and  the  Corporal, 
— wall,  may  as  well  take  it  easy, — I  fit  for  him  like  a  tiger,  till  they 
nocked  me  endways,  and  I  played  dead  to  save  my  life.  But  the 
Corporal's  a  goner, — took  prisoner  with  an  awful  cut  on  his  neck  ; 
and  now  what  I'm  going  to  tell  you  is  this  :  the  night  before  the  bat- 
tle I  came  upon  him  prayin'  like  a  priest,  kneehn'  in  an  awful  mud- 
puddle,  and  what  he  said  was  somethin'  about  Heaven,  and  Anny, 
whitch,  beggin'  your  pardon,  I  thiuk  means  you,  and  so  I  ast  him  in 
case  of  bad  luck,  if  I  should  write  and  tell  you,    I  don't  think  he 


EESULTS  OF  THE  BAITLE.  291 

conld  have  ben  in  a  vary  sperritual  frame  of  mind,  for  he  told  me  to 
mind  my  bisiness,  but  I  don't  lay  it  up  agin  him,  and  when  them  too 
tall,  lantern-jawed  sons  of  Balam  grabbed  him  as  he  was  tryin'  to 
skedaddle  with  the  blood  a  spirtin'  from  his  neck,  I  pitched  inter 
'em,  and  give  'em  hale  columby  for  a  spell,  till  they  nocked  me  flat 
and  I  made  bleeve  dead  as  I  was  teUin'  you.  Don't  feel  bad.  Miss 
Graam.  Trust  luck  and  keep  your  powder  dry,  and  mabby  he'll 
come  back  sometime. 

Yours  to  command, 

"Bilij  Bakeb." 
"Tell  the  old  woman  I'm  well,  but  pretty  well  tuckered  out." 

*'  God  soften  the  hearts  of  his  captors.  God  keep  him 
in  safety  !"  Annie  whispered,  and  then,  as  Mrs.  Carle  ton 
came  in,  she  passed  the  note  to  her,  and  tried  to  comfort 
the  poor  mother,  who,  in  Rose's  absence,  leaned  on  her 
as  on  a  daughter. 

Annie  seemed  very  near  the  sorrowing  woman,  who 
wept  bitterly  for  her  poor  boy,  and  in  the  first  hours  of 
her  sorrow  she  spoke  out  what  was  in  her  mind. 

"  I  beheve  Jimmie  loved  you,  Annie,  and  that  makes 
you  very  dear  to  me.  We  can  mourn  for  him  together, 
and,  Annie,  you  will  pray  for  him  night  and  day,  that 
God  will  bring  him  back  to  us." 

Annie  could  only  reply  by  pressing  the  hand  which 
sought  hers,  for  her  heart  was  too  full  to  speak. 
Had  Jimmie  been  dead  she  would  scarcely  have  mourn- 
ed for  him  more  deeply  than  she  did  now.  The  country 
was  already  rife  with  i-umors  of  the  sufferings  endured 
by  our  prisoners,  and  death  itself  seemed  almost  prefer- 
able to  months  and  years  of  privations  and  pain  in  the 
Southern  prisons. 

"  Sent  to  Richmond,  and  probably  from  thence  further 
South,  probably  to  Georgia." 

This  was  all  the  intelligence  they  could  procure  from 
him,  until  spring,  when  there  came  news  direct  that  he 


292  ROSE   MATHER 

was  at  Salisbury,  and  there  for  a  time  the  curtaiD 
dropped,  leaving  his  face  shrouded  in  darkness,  while  in 
his  Northern  home  tears  were  shed  like  rain,  and  prayers 
went  up  to  heaven  from  the  quivering  lips  of  a  mother, 
who  was  just  learning  to  yraj  as  she  ought,  and  into 
Annie  Graham's  heart  there  gradually  crept  a  wish  that 
the  poor,  weary  prisoner  might  know  how  much  and 
how  kindly  she  thought  of  him,  feeling  at  times  half 
sorry  that  she  had  not  given  him  some  little  hope  as  a 
solace  for  the  weary  hours  of  his  prison  life. 


CHAPTEE  XXV. 

GETTYSBURGH. 


^4 

;;OSE  MATHEE  had  brought  her  husband  home 
as  soon  as  it  was  safe  to  move  him,  and  with 
^^  the  good  nursing  of  j\Ii'S.  Carleton  and  Annie, 
he  grew  strong  enough  to  rejoin  his  regiment  in  May, 
and  the  last  which  Eose  heard  from  him  directly  was  a 
few  words  hastily  Written  and  sent  off  to  Washington 
just  as  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  was  moving  on  to  Get- 
tysburgh.  Then  came  the  terrible  battle,  when  the  sum- 
mer air  was  full  of  smoke,  and  dust,  and  flying  splinters, 
with  clouds  of  torn-up  earth  which  bhnded  the  horror- 
stricken  men,  who  vainly  sought  for  shelter  behind  the 
trees  and  the  headstones  of  the  graveyard,  where  the 
dead  must  almost  have  heard  the  fierce  commotion 
around  them  as  wail  after  wail  of  human  anguish,  min- 
gled with  the  awful  shrieks  of  dying  horses,  went  up  to 
the  blackened  heavens  and  then  died   away  in  silence. 


GETTYSBUEGH. 


293 


Where  tlie  battle  was  tlie  hottest,  and  the  carnage  the 
most  terrible,  Will  Mather  followed,  or  rather  led,  and 
when  the  fight  had  ceased  he  lay  upon  his  face,  uncon- 
scious of  the  pitiless  rain  beating  upon  his  head,  or  the 
two  savage-looking  Texans  bending  over  him,  and  turn- 
ing him  to  the  Hght. 

Among  the  hst  of  killed,  the  Rockland  Chronicle  of 
July  10th  had  the  name  of  Wilham  Mather,  whHe  in 
another  column,  designated  by  long  lines  of  black,  was  a 
eulogy  upon  the  deceased,  who  was  known  to  have  fought 
so  bravely.  Then  every  blind  of  the  Mather  mansion 
was  closed,  and  knots  of  crape  streamed  from  the  door- 
knob, and  the  villagers  missed  the  roll  of  the  carriage 
wheels  which  were  wont  to  carry  so  much  comfort  and 
sunshine  to  the  hearts  of  the  poor  soldiers;  and  the  lit- 
tle airy,  dancing  creature,  whose  blight  smile  and  rare 
beauty  had  done  quite  as  good  service  as  her  generous 
gifts,  lay  in  her  darkened  room,  never  weeping,  never 
speaking,  except  to  moan  so  piteously,  "  Oh,  Will,  my 
darling,  my  poor,  poor  husband."' 

They  could  not  comfort  her,  for  she  did  not  seem  to 
hear,  or  at  least  to  understand  one  word  they  said,  and 
the  soft,  dark  eyes  had  in  them  a  wHd,  scared  look, 
which  troubled  the  watchers  at  her  side,  and  made  them 
tremble  for  her  safety. 

The  knots  of  crape  were  taken  from  the  doors,  and 
the  bhnds  were  opened  at  last,  and  the  light  of 
heaven  let  into  the  dreary  house  ;  but  there  came  no 
change  to  poor  little  Rose,  whose  white  face  grew  so 
thin  that  Tom,  when  in  September  he  came  home  to  see 
her,  would  scarcely  have  known  the  httle  sister,  of  whose 
beauty  he  had  been  so  proud.  As  if  the  sight  of  him  in 
his  uniform  had  brought  back  the  horror  of  the  past, 


294  ROSE  MATHER. 

she  uttered  a  piercing  shriek,  and  hid  her  face  for  a 
moment  in  her  pillows;  then,  with  a  sudden  movement 
lifted  her  head,  and  shedding  back  her  tangled  curls 
from  her  pale  forehead,  she  stretched  her  arms  toward 
him  and  whispered: 

"Take  me,  Tom;  hold  me  as  you  used  to  do;  let  me 
be  a  little  girl  again  in  the  old  home  in  Boston,  for  Will, 
you  know,  is  dead.'* 

And  Tom  took  her  in  his  strong,  brotherly  arms,  and 
laid  her  head  against  his  breast,  and  caressed  and 
smoothed  her  tumbled  hair,  and  petted  and  loved  her 
just  as  he  did  when  she  was  a  httle  child,  with  no  shadow 
around  her  hke  that  which  enfolded  her  now.  And  then 
he  spoke  of  Will,  and  the  dark  eyes  fastened  eagerly  upon 
his  as  he  told  her  how  the  very  night  before  the  battle, 
WiU  knelt  down  with  him  and  prayed  that  whether  he 
lived  or  died,  aU  might  be  weU  with  him. 

And  Rose,"  he  continued,  "he  bade  me  tell  you,  in 
case  he  was  killed,  that  all  was  well,  and  you  must  think 
ofjiim  as  in  Heaven,  not  far,  as  some  suppose,  but  near  to 
you, — with  you, — he  said,  and  you  must  meet  him  there. 
You  must  bear  bravely  what  God  chooses  to  send  ;  not 
give  up  hke  this  when  there  is  so  much  to  be  done.  WiU 
my  darling  httle  sister  heed  what  poor  Will  said  ?  WiU 
she  try  to  raUy  and  be  a  brave  woman  ?" 

"  Yes,  Tom,  I'U  try,"  came  gaspingly  from  the  white 
lips,  and  Rose's  voice  was  broken  with  sobs,  as  the  fii'st 
tears  she  had  shed  since  she  heard  the  fatal  news,  ran  in 
torrents  down  her  face. 

Tom  only  staid  a  week,  but  he  did  them  a  world  of 
good,  and  Annie  felt  she  had  never  known  one  half  how 
noble  a  man  he  was  until  she  saw  how  tender  he  was 
with  Rose,  and  how  kind  to  his  mother,  whose  heart 


GETTYSBUKGH.  295 

was  acliing  to  its  very  core  for  her  youngest  son.  He 
had  been  removed  from  Sahsbury  to  Andersonville  when 
they  last  heard  from  him,  and  was  dead,  perhaps,  by  this 
time.  Poor  Jimmie !  The  year  he  had  asked  Tom  to 
wait  would  be  up  before  very  long,  but  Tom  would  still 
keep  faith  with  him.  Annie  was  sacred  to  Jimmie's 
memory,  and  once,  when  talking  with  her  of  the  captive, 
he  alluded  to  what  would  probably  be  when  Jimmie  came 
home  again.  And  Annie  did  not  turn  from  him  now,  as 
she  would  once  have  done  had  such  a  thing  been  sug- 
gested. 

"  God  only  knows  how  I  might  feel,"  she  said,  and  by 
the  look  in  her  blue  eyes,  and  the  tone  of  her  voice,  Tom 
knew  there  was  no  hope  for  him. 

With  many  kisses  and  loving  words  of  sympathy,  he 
bade  his  sister  good-bye  when  his  leave  had  expired,  and 
then  in  the  hall  stood  a  moment  while  his  mother  whis- 
pered something  to  him  which  made  him  start,  and  turn 
pale  as  he  said: 

"Poor  WiU!  he  would  have  been  so  glad!" 

Then,  as  if  the  news  had  brought  Rose  nearer  to  him, 
and  made  her  more  the  object  of  his  special  care,  he 
went  back  to  her  a  second  time,  and  wound  his  arms 
about  her  lovingly,  as  he  said,  "  Poor  little  wounded  dove ! 
God's  promises  are  for  the  widow  and  fatherless,  and  He 
wiU  care  for  you;"  and  Rose  guessed  to  what  he  referred, 
but  there  was  no  answering  joy  upon  her  face,  and  her 
hands  were  pressed  upon  her  heart  as  she  watched  him 
from  the  window,  going  from  her  just  as  Will  had  gone, 
and  whispered  to  herself,  "  It  would  have  been  too  much 
happiness  if  Will  had  Hved  ;  but  now  I  cannot  be  glad." 


296  ROSE  MATHER. 


CHAPTER  XXVL 


r^^-)^  COURSE     OF     EVENTS 


iW^  a  liowl  of  despair,  !Mrs.  Baker  came  rushing 

f\'rM4  into  the  kitchen  of  the  Mather  mansion,  one 
-^0^^  morning  in  November,  starthng  Annie  with  her 
vehemence  as  she  thrust  into  her  hand  a  dirty,  half-worn 
envelope,  which  she  said  was  from  Bill,  who  had  been 
missing  since  August,  and  who,  it  now  appeared,  was  at 
Andersonville. 

"Might  better  be  dead,"  his  mother  said,  and  then  she 
explained  that  the  letter  she  brought  Annie  had  come  in 
one  to  herself  received  that  morning  from  Bill. 

How  he  ever  got  it  through  the  lines  was  a  mystery 
which  he  did  not  explain;  nor  did  Annie  care,  inasmuch 
as  it  brought  news  direct  from  Jimmie.  He  had  w^ritten 
to  her  with  the  pencil  and  on  the  sheet  of  paper  Bill  had 
brought  him,  for  Bill  Baker  was  employed  outside  the 
prison  walls,  and  allowed  many  pii^ileges  which  were 
denied  to  the  poor  wretches  who  crowded  that  swampy 
pen.  In  short.  Bill  had  taken  the  Confederate  oath, — 
"had  done  some  tall  swearin',"  as  he  wrote  to  Annie, 
giving  as  an  excuse  for  the  treasonable  act,  "  that  he 
couldn't  Stan'  the  racket "  in  that  horrible  jDlace,  where 
twenty  thousand  human  beings  were  crowded  together 
in  a  space  of  twenty-five  acres,  and  part  of  that  a  marshy 
swamp,  teeming  with  filth  and  scum,  and  hideous  Hving 
things.  Another  reason,  too,  Bill  gave,  and  that  was 
pity  for  the  "  Corp'ral,"  to  whom  he  could  occasionally 
take  little  extras,  and  whom  he  would  have  scarcely 
recognized,  he  said,  so  worn  and  changed  had  he  become 
from  his  long  imprisonment. 


THE  COURSE  OF  EVENTS.  297 

"I  mistrusted  he  -was  there,"  Bill  wrote;  "  and  so  when  me 
and  and  some  other  fellow-travellers  was  safely  landed  in  pur- 
gatory, I  went  on  an  explorin'  tower  to  find  him.  But  you  bet  it 
want  so  easy  gettin  through  that  crowd.  Why,  the  camp-meetin' 
they  had  in  the  Fair  Grounds  in  Eoekland,  when  Marm  Freeman 
bust  her  biler  hollerin,'  was  nothin'  to  the  piles  of  ragged,  dirty,  hun- 
gry-lookin'  dogs;  some  standin'  up,  some  lyin'  down,  and  all  lookin' 
as  if  they  was  on  their  last  legs.  Eight  on  a  little  sand-bank,  and  so 
near  the  dead  line  that  I  wonder  he  didn't  get  shot,  I  found  the  Cor- 
p'ral,  with  his  trouses  tore  to  tatters,  and  lookin'  like  the  old  gal's 
rag-bag  that  hangs  in  the  suller-way.  Didn't  he  cry,  though,  when 
I  hit  him  a  kelp  on  the  back,  and  want  there  some  tall  cryin'  done  by 
both  of  us  as  we  sat  there  flat  on  the  sand,  with  the  hot  sun  pourin' 
down  on  us,  and  the  sweat  and  the  tears  runnin'  down  his  face,  as 
he  told  me  all  he'd  suffered.  It  made  my  blood  bile.  I've  had  a 
little  taste  of  Libby,  and  Bell  Isle,  too;  but  they  can't  hold  a  candle 
to  this  place.  Miss  Graam,  you  are  the  good  sort,  kinder  plus  like  ; 
but  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  don't  bleeve  you'll  justify  me  in  the  thumpin' 
lies  I  told  the  Corp'ral  that  day,  to  keep  his  spirits  up.  Says  he, 
*  Have  you  ever  ben  to  Eoekland  since  Fredericksburg  ?'  and  then 
I  tho't  in  a  minute  of  that  nite  in  the  woods  when  he  prayed  about 
Anny;  and  ses  I  to  myself,  'The  piusest  lie  you  ever  told  wiH  be 
that  you  have  been  home,  and  seen  iliss  Graam,  with  any  other 
tiiflin'  additions  you  may  think  best;'  so  I  told  him  I  had  ben  hum 
on  a  furbelow,  as  the  old  gal  (meanin'  my  mother)  calls  it.  And  I 
seen  her,  too,  says  I,  Miss  Graam,  and  she  talked  an  awful  sight 
about  you,  I  said,  when  you  orto  have  seen  him  shiver  all  over  as  he 
got  up  closer  to  me,  and  asked,  '  "What  did  she  say  ?'  Then  I  went 
on  romancin',  and  told  him  how  you  spent  a  whole  evenin'  at  the  ole 
hut,  talkin'  about  him,  and  how  sorry  you  was  for  him,  and  couldn't 
git  your  natural  sleep  for  thinkin'  of  him,  and  how,  when  I  came 
away,  you  said  to  me  on  the  sly,  '  William,  if  you  ever  happen  to 
meet  IVIr.  Carleton,  give  him  Anny  Graam's  love,  and  tell  him  she 
means  it.'  Great  Peter  !  I  could  almost  see  the  flesh  come  back  to 
his  bones,  and  his  eyes  had  the  old  look  in  'em,  as  he  liked  to  of 
hugged  me  to  death.  I'd  done  him  a  world  of  good,  he  said,  and  for 
some  days  he  seemed  as  chipper  as  -you  please ;  but  nobody  can  stan' 
a  diet  of  raw  meal  and  the  nastiest  watter  that  ever  run  ;  and  ses  I 
to  myself,  Corp'ral  will  die  as  sure  as  thunder  if  somethin'  don't 


298  EOSE   MATHER. 

turn  up;  and  so,  when  I  got  the  hang  of  things  a  little,  and  seen 
how  the  macheen  was  worked,  sez  I,  '  I'll  turn  Secesh,  though  I  hate 
'em  as  I  do  pizen.'  They  was  glad  enuff  to  have  me,  bein'  I'm  a 
kind  of  carpenter  and  jiner,  and  they  let  me  out,  and  I  went  to  work 
for  the  Corp'raL  I'U  bet  I  told  a  hundred  lies,  fust  and  last,  if  I  did 
one.  I  said  he  was  at  heart  Secesh;  that  he  was  in  the  rebel  army, 
and  I  took  him  prisoner  at  Manassas,  which,  you  know  was  true. 
Then  I  said  his  sweetheart,  meanin'  you,  begging  your  pardon,  got 
up  a  row,  and  made  him  jine  the  Federals,  and  promise  never  to  go 
agin  the  flag,  and  that's  how  he  come  to  be  nabbed  up  at  Fredericks- 
burg. I  said'twan't  no  use  to  try  to  make  him  swear,  for  he  thought 
more  of  his  gal's  good  opinion  than  he  did  of  Hberty,  and  I  set  you 
up  till  I  swan  if  I  bleeve  you'd  a  knowed  yourself,  and  every  one  of 
them  fellers  was  ready  to  stan'  by  you,  and  two  of  'em  drinked  your 
helth  with  the  wust  whisky  I  ever  tasted.  One  of  'em  asked  me  if  I 
was  a  fail-  specimen  of  the  Northern  Army,  and  I'll  be  darned  if  I 
didn't  tell  him  no,  for  I  was  ashamed  to  have  'em  think  the  Federals 
was  all  like  me.  I  guess,  though,  they  liked  me  some ;  anyway,  they 
let  me  carry  something  to  the  Corp'ral  every  now  and  then,  and  I 
bleeve  he'd  die  if  I  didn't.  I've  smuggled  him  in  some  paper  and  a 
pencil,  and  he  is  going  to  wright  to  you,  and  I  shall  send  it,  no  mat- 
ter how.  The  rebs  won't  see  it,  and  I  guess  it's  pretty  sure  to  go 
safe.  I  must  stop  now,  and  wright  to  the  old  woman. 
«*  Yours  to  command, 

"  WniLiAM  Bakeb,  Esqtjaee." 

It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  Annie  could  decipher 
the  badly-written  scrawl;  but  she  made  it  out  at  last, 
and  then  took  Jimmie's  letter  next,  shuddering  as  she 
saw  in  it  marks  of  the  horrors  which  Bill  had  described 
but  faintly,  and  which  were  fully  corroborated  by  Jim- 
mie  himself. 

**  My  dear  Annie,"  he  wrote,  '*I  do  not  know  that  this  letter  will 
ever  reach  you.  I  have  but  little  hope  that  it  wiU.  StiU  it  is  woi-th 
trying  for,  and  so  here  in  this  terrible  place,  whose  horrors  no  pen 
or  tongue  can  adequately  describe,  I  am  writing  to  you,  who  I  know 
think  sometimes  of  the  poor  wretch  starving  and  dying  by  inches  in 
AndersonviUe.     Oh,  Annie,  you  can  never  know  what  I  have  suffered 


THE  COUKSE   OF  EVENTS.  299 

from  hunger  and  thirst,  and  exposure  and  filth,  which  makes  my 
very  blood  curdle  and  creep,  and  from  that  weary  homesickness 
which  more  than  aught  else  kills  the  poor  boys  around  me.  When 
I  first  came  here  I  thought  I  could  not  endure  it,  and  though  I  knew 
I  was  not  prepared,  I  used  to  wish  that  I  might  die;  but  a  little 
drimimer  boy  from  IVIichigan,  who  took  to  me  from  the  hrst,  said  his 
prayers  one  night  beside  me,  and  the  listening  to  him  carried  me 
back  to  you,  who,  I  felt  sure,  prayed  for  me  each  day.  And  so  hope 
came  back  again,  with  a  desire  to  live  and  see  your  dear  face  once 
more.  Myhttle  drummer  boy,  Johnny,  was  all  the  world  to  me,  and 
when  he  grew  too  sick  to  sit  or  stand,  I  held  his  poor  head  in  my  lap, 
and  gave  up  my  rations  to  him,  for  he  was  almost  famished,  and  ate 
eagerly  whatever  was  brougJit  to  us.  We  used  to  say  the  Lord's 
Prayer  together  every  night,  when  a  certain  star  appeared,  which  he 
playfully  called  his  'mother,'  saying  "it  was  her  eye  watching  over 
him.  It  was  a  childish  fancy,  but  we  grow  childish  here,  and  I,  too, 
have  given  that  star  a  name.  I  call  it  '  Annie,'  and  I  watch  its  com- 
ing as  eagerly  as  did  the  httle  boy,  who  died  just  as  the  star  reached 
the  zenith  and  was  shining  down  upon  him.  His  head  was  in  mv 
lap,  and  all  there  was  left  of  my  coat  I  made  into  a  pillow  for  him, 
and  held  him  till  he  died.  His  mother's  address  is  ,  Michi- 
gan. Write  to  her,  Annie,  and  tell  her  how  Johnny  died  in  the  firm 
hope  of  meeting  her  again  in  heaven.  Tell  her  he  did  not  suffer 
much  pain,— only  a  weakness,  which  wasted  his  life  away.  Tell  her 
the  keepers  were  kind  to  him,  and  brought  him  ice-water  several 
times.  Tell  her,  too,  of  the  star  at  which  he  gazed  so  long  as  he  had 
strength. 

*'It  was  all  the  companion  I  had  after  he  was  gone  until  Bill 
Baker  came.  I  shall  n^ver  forget  that  day.  I  had  crawled  up  to 
my  sand  bank,  and  drawn  my  rags  around  me,  and  was  begimiing 
to  wish  again  that  I  could  die,  when  a  broad  hand  was  laid  upon  my 
shoulder,  and  a  voice  which  was  music  to  me  then,  if  it  never  had 
been  before,  said  to  me  cheerily,  '  Hallo,  old  Corp'ral !  Such  are 
the  chances  of  war !  Give  us  your  fist !'  But  when  he  saw  what  a 
sorry,  jaded  wretch  I  was,  his  chin  began  to  quiver,  and  we  cried  to- 
gettier  hke  two  great  babies  as  we  were. 

*'  Oh,  Annie,  was  it  a  lie  Bill  Baker  told  me,  or  did  you  really  send 
me  your  love,  and  say  that  you  meant  it  ?  He  told  me  such  a  story, 
and  I  grew  better  in  a  moment.  Have  you  relented,  and  if  I  could 
ask  you  again  the  question  I  asked  a  year  ago,  when  we  sat  togethei 


600  ROSE  MATHER. 

beneath  the  moonlight,  wonld  you  tell  me  yes  ?  Darling  Annie,  An- 
dersonviUe  is  not  so  terrible  since  I  am  kept  np  by  that  hope.  I  do 
not  mind  now  if  my  shoes  and  stockings  are  all  gone,  and  my 
trowsers  nearly  so,  and  I  watch  for  that  star  so  eagerly,  and  make 
believe  that  it  is  you,  and  when  the  dark  clouds  obscure  it,  and  the 
rain  is  falling  upon  my  unsheltered  head,  I  say  that  it  is  Annie's 
tears,  and  do  not  mind  that  either.  I  pray,  too,  Annie, — pray  with 
my  heart,  I  hope,  though  my  prayers  have  more  to  do  with  you  than 
myself 

"BUI  Baker  said  he  should  write  and  t^ll  you  about  his  taking 
the  oath,  which  I  believe  he  did  almost  solely  for  my  sake,  and  greatly 
have  I  been  benefited  by  it.  Rough  as  he  is,  and  disgusting  at  times, 
he  seems  to  have  gained  friends  outside,  and  he  does  us  many  a  kind- 
ness, confining  his  attentions  mostly  to  me,  who  am  his  especial 
care.  It  is  a  strange  Providence  that  he  who  took  me  a  prisoner  at 
Bull  Run  and  annoyed  me  so  terribly,  should  now  be  caring  for  me 
here  at  Andersonville,  and  literally  keeping  the  life  within  me,  for  I 
should  die  without  him. 

**I  have  not  written  half  I  want  to  say,  but  my  paper  is  nearly 
used  up,  and  not  one  word  have  I  said  to  mother  or  Rose.  Tell 
them  they  would  not  know  me  now,  and  tell  them,  too,  that  in  my 
dreams,  when  I  am  not  with  you,  I  am  with  them,  and  mother's  face 
is  like  an  angel's,  while  Rose's  sparkling  beauty  makes  my  heart 
beat  just  as  it  used  to  beat  when  I  first  began  to  realize  what  a  dar- 
ling sister  I  had.  Dear  Annie,  you  did  send  that  message  by  Bill 
Baker,  I  w'ill  believe,  and  thus  believing,  shall  gain  strength  maybe 
to  bear  up  until  the  day  of  release. 

"Good-bye,  my  darling.  From  my  crowded,  filthy,  terrible  pris- 
on I  send  you  a  loving  good-bye." 

Notwitlistandiug  the  sickening  details  of  tins  letter  the 
day  succeeding  its  receipt  was  a  brighter  one  at  the  Math- 
er house  than  the  inmates  had  known  for  a  long  time. 
Jimmie  was  stiE  aUve,  and  with  Bill  Baker's  care  he 
might  survive  the  horrors  of  Andersonville  and  come  back 
to  them  again.  Annie  showed  both  letters  to  Mrs  Carle- 
ton,  who,  when  she  read  them,  wound  her  arms  around 
Annie's  neck  and  whispered,  "Is  it  wrong  for  me  to  be 


THE   COURSE  OF  EVENXa  301 

glad  that  Bill  Baker  told  that  lie,  when  by  the   means 
our  prisoner  boy  is  so  greatly  benefited." 

Annie  could  not  tell.  She  was  not  sorry  that  Jimmie 
should  think  of  her  as  he  did,  and  that  night  when  the 
stars  came  out  in  the  sky  she  looked  tearfully  up  at  them, 
wondering  which  was  the  one  watched  for  by  the  childish 
young  man,  and  the  little  boy  who  died.  Mrs.  Carleton 
had  taken  it  for  granted  that  if  Jimmie  came  back  Annie 
would  be  her  daughter,  and  she  clung  to  her  with  a  love 
and  tenderness  second  only  to  what  she  felt  for  Eose. 
Poor  Kose !  She  had  listened  with  some  degree  of  inter- 
est to  such  portions  of  Jimmie's  letter  as  Annie  chose  to 
read  to  her,  but  it  had  no  power  to  rcyise  her  from  the 
state  of  apathy  into  which  she  had  fallen.  She  never 
smiled  now,  and  rarely  spoke  except  to  answer  a  question, 
but  sat  all  day  by  the  window  in  her  own  room,  and  look- 
ed away  to  the  southward,  where  all  her  thoughts  were 
centered.  It  was  very  strange  that  nothing  could  be 
heard  of  her  husband  except  that  he  was  shot  down  dead. 
A  dozen  corroborated  that  fact,  but  his  body  had  not 
been  found  on  the  field,  nor  was  any  mention  ever  made 
of  him  in  any  official  accounts.  Once  Eose  had  been 
startled  fi'om  her  stupor  by  a  soldier,  who  pretended  to 
have  seen  her  husband  in  one  of  the  Southern  prisons, 
but  a  closer  examination  proved  that  the  man  was  intox- 
icated, and  had  told  what  he  did  in  the  hope  that  money 
might  be  given  him  for  the  intelligence,  and  then  Eose 
sank  back  into  her  former  condition,  the  same  hopeless 
look  in  her  eyes  which  had  been  there  from  the  moment 
she  heard  her  husband's  name  among  the  killed,  and  the 
Bame  look  of  anguish  upon  her  face  which  never  relaxed 
a  muscle,  as  she  watched  indififerently  the  preparations 
made  by  her  mother  and  Annie  for  an  event  which  under 


802  ROSE  MATHER. 

otlier  circumstances  would  have  stirred  every  pulsation 
of  her  heart.  But  when  on  Christmas  morning,  the 
bell  from  St.  Luke's  was  sending  forth  its  joyous  peal  for 
the  child  bom  in  Bethlehem  more  than  eighteen  hundi-ed 
years  ago,  there  came  a  softer,  more  natural  look  to 
Rose's  eyes,  and  her  lip  quivered  a  little  as  she  said  to 
Annie,  who  was  bending  over  her,  "  What  is  that  sound 
in  the  next  room  Hke  the  crying  of  a  baby  ?" 

"It  is  your  baby.  Rose;  born  last  night.  Don't  you  re- 
member it, — a  beautiful  Httle  boy,  with  his  father's  look 
in  his  eyes,  and  Jimmie's  dimple  in  his  chin?" 

Annie  hoped,  by  mentioning  both  the  father  and  Jim- 
mie,  to  awaken  ^ome  interest  in  the  little  mother,  whose 
eyes  grew  larger,  and  rounder,  and  brighter,  as  she  whis- 
pered: 

"  My  baby,  I  can't  understand.  It  is  all  so  strange  and 
mysterious.  How  came  I  with  a  baby,  Annie  ?  Bring  it 
to  me,  please." 

They  brought  it  to  her,  and  laid  it  in  her  arms,  and 
then  stood  watching  her  as  the  fii'st  tokens  of  the  moth- 
er's love  came  over  her  face  and  crept  into  her  eyes,  which 
gradually  began  to  fill  with  tears,  until,  at  last,  a  storm 
of  sobs  and  moans  burst  forth,  as  Rose  rocked  to  and  fro, 
whispering  to  her  child: 

"  Poor  darling !  to  be  bom  without  a  father,  when  he 
would  have  been  so  proud  of  his  boy.  Poor,  murdered 
WiU !  Poor,  fatherless  baby !  I  am  glad  God  gave  you 
to  me.  I  did  not  deserve  it.  I've  been  so  thoughtless 
and  wicked,  but  I  will  be  better  now.  Dear  httle  baby, 
we  will  gi'ow  good  together,  so  as  to  go  some  day  where 
papa  has  gone." 

She  would  not  let  them  take  the  child  from  her.  It 
was  hsrs,  she  said.     God  had  sent  it  to  make  her  better. 


THE  COURSE   OF  EVENTa  303 

and  she  would  have  it.  There  was  something  in  the 
touch  of  its  soft,  warm  hands,  which  kept  her  heart  from 
breaking.  And  so  they  left  it  with  her,  and  from  the  day 
that  little  life  came  to  be  one  in  the  household,  Rose  be- 
gan to  amend,  and,  in  her  love  for  her  child,  forgot  in 
part  the  terrible  pain  in  her  heart.  Once  her  mother  said 
to.  her: 

"  Will  you  call  your  baby,  "William  ?"    And  she  replied: 

"No;  there  is  but  one  Willie  for  me,  and  he  is  in 
Heaven.     Baby  will  be  called  for  brother  Jimmie." 

And  so  one  bright  Sunday  morning  in  March,  when  St. 
Luke's  was  decked  with  flowers  fi'om  the  Mather  hot- 
house, and  the  children  of  the  Sunday  School  sang  their 
Easter  carols,  Rose  Mather,  in  her  widow's  weeds,  went 
up  the  aisle,  with  her  mother,  Annie,  and  brother  Tom, 
the  latter  of  whom  gave  her  bright-eyed,  beautiful  boy  to 
the  rector,  who  baptized  him  "  James  Carleton."  And 
all  through  the  congregation  there  ran  a  thrill  of  pity 
for  the  widowed  mother,  whose  face,  though  it  had  lost 
some  of  its  brilliant  color,  was  more  beautiful  than  ever, 
for  there  was  shining  all  over  it  the  light  of  a  new  joy, 
the  peace  which  comes  from  sins  forgiven,  and,  after  the 
baptism  was  over  and  the  morning  service  read.  Rose 
knelt  with  her  mother,  brother,  and  Annie,  to  receive, 
for  the  first  time,  the  precious  symbols  of  a  Saviour's  dy- 
ing love. 

Rose  had  ceased  to  oppose  Annie  in  her  wish  to  join 
]VIi's.  Simms,  who  was  then  at  Annapolis ;  and  when  Tom, 
a  few  days  after  the  baptism,  went  back  again,  Annie 
would  go  with  him  as  a  regular  hospital  nurse. 

It  might  be  that  Jimmie  would  be  among  the  number 
of  skeletons  sent  up  to  "God's  land,"  as  the  poor  fellows 
called  it;  and  Annie's  heart  thi'obbed  with  the  pleasure  it 
would  be  to  minister  to  him,  to  call  the  life  back  to  hia 


S04  ROSE   MATHER. 

heart,  to  awaken  an  interest  in  him  for  olden  times,  and 
then,  perhaps,  whisper  to  him  that  the  decision  made  that 
moonlight  night,  more  than  a  year  and  a  half  ago,  had 
been  revoked  and  where  she  had  said  no,  her  answer  now 
was  yes.  Between  herself  and  Mrs.  Carleton  there  had 
been  a  long  talk,  of  which  Jimmie  and  the  Httle  Pequot 
girl  were  the  subjects,  and  the  proud  lady  had  asked 
forgiveness  for  the  wrong  done  to  that  girl,  if  wrong  there 
were. 

"Something  tells  me  you  will  find  my  boy,"  she  said; 
"  and  if  you  do,  teU  him  how  freely  I  give  him  this  little 
Lulu,  and  God  bless  you  both !" 

A  few  weeks  later,  and  news  came  to  the  Mather  House 
that  when  the  battle  of  the  Wilderness  was  over.  Captain 
Tom  Carleton  was  not  with  his  handful  of  men  who  came 
from  the  field.  "A  prisoner  of  war,"  was  the  next  report, 
and  then,  as  if  her  last  hope  had  been  taken  from  her, 
]Mrs.  Carleton  broke  down  entirely,  and,  secluding  herself 
from  the  world  without,  sat  down  in  her  desolation, 
mourning  and  praying  for  her  two  boys, — one  a  prisoner 
in  Andersonville,  and  one  in  Columbia. 


CHAPTER  XXYIL 

THE     HUNTED     SOLDIER. 


'HE  sun  was  just  rising,  and  his  red  beams  gildea 
the  summits  of  the  Alleghany  Mountains,  which 
in  the  glory  of  the  early  morning  seemed  as  calm 
and  peaceful  as  if  their  lofty  heights  had  never  looked 


THE  HUNTED   SOLDIER.  805 

down  npon  scenes  of  carnage  and  strife,  or  their  tangled 
passes  and  dark  ravines  sheltered  poor,  starving,  fright- 
ened wretches,  fleeing  for  their  lives,  and  braving  death 
in  any  form  rather  than  be  recaptured  by  their  merciless 
pursuers.     There  were  several  of  these  miserable   men 
hiding  in  the  mountain  passes  now,  prisoners   escaped 
from  Salisbuiy  and  other  points,  but  our  story  now  has  to 
do  with  but  one,  and  that  a  young  man,  with  a  look  of 
determination  in  his  eye,  and  the  courage  of  a  Samson  in 
his  heart.     He^ad  suffered  incredible  hardships  since  the 
day  of  his  capfure.     He  had  been  stripped  at  once  of  his 
handsome  uniform  by  the  brutal  Texans,  who  found  him 
upon  the  field.     His  gold,  which  he  carried  about  his  per- 
son into  every  battle,  had  been  taken  from  him,  and  in  this 
condition  he  had  been  sent  fi'om  one  prison  to  another, 
until  SaHsbury  received  him.     At  first  he  had  suffered 
but  little  mentally,  for  the  ball  which  struck  him  down 
had  left  him  with  his  reason  impau'ed,  and  to  him  it  was 
aU  the  same  whether  fi'iend  or  foe  had  him  in  keeping. 
Deprived  of  everything  which  could  mark  his  rank  as  an 
officer,  and  always  insisting  that  his  name  was  "Rose," 
he  passed  for  a  demented  creature,  whom  the  brutal  sol- 
diery dehghted  to  torment.     Gradually,  however,  his  rea- 
son came  back,  and  he  woke  to  the  full  horrors  of  his  con- 
dition.   Then,  like  a  caged  lion  he  chafed  and  fumed,  and 
resolved  to  be  free.     He  could  not  die  there,  knowing  that 
far  away  there  was  a  bUthesome  httle  woman  waiting  for 
his  coming,  if,  indeed,  she  had  not  ceased  to  think  of  him 
as  among  the  living,— a  state  of  things  which  he  thought 
very  probable,  as  he  became  awai-e  of  the  fact  that  no  one 
of  his  companions  was  acquainted  mth  his  real  name.  Rose 
was  the  only  cognomen  by  which  he  was  known,  and  the 
proud  man  shivered  every  time  he  heard  that  dear  name 
uttered  by  the  coarse,  jesting  lips  around  him.     A  horrid 


806  ROSE   MATHER. 

suit  of  dirty  grey  liad  been  given  him  in  place  of  the  sto- 
len uniform,  and  though  at  first  he  rebelled  against  the 
filth}^  garments,  he  began  ere  long  to  think  how  they 
might  aid  him  in  his  escape,  inasmuch  as  they  were  the 
garb  of  the  Confederates.  Day  and  night  he  studied  the 
best  means  of  escape,  until  at  last  the  attempt  was  made, 
an  i  he  stood  one  dark,  rainy  night,  out  on  the  highway 
a  free  man,  breathing  the  pure  breath  of  heaven,  and  rea- 
dy to  sell  his  life  at  any  cost  rather  than  go  back  again 
to  the  prison  he  had  left.  He  had  put  his  trust  in  God, 
and  God  had  raised  him  up  a  friend  at  once,  who  had 
seen  him  leave  the  prison,  and  greatly  aided  him  in  his 
escape,  just  as  he  had  aided  others,  knowing  the  while 
that  by  so  doing  he  was  putting  his  own  life  in  jeopardy. 
But  a  staunch  Unionist  at  heart,  he  was  willing  to  brave 
everything  for  the  cause,  and  it  was  through  his  instru- 
mentahty  and  minute  directions  that  WiU  Mather  had 
finally  reached  the  shelter  of  the  mountains  which  separate 
North  Carolina  from  Tennessee.  He  had  found  friends 
all  along  the  route,  true,  loyal  men,  who  had  periled  their 
lives  for  him;  brave  tender  women,  whose  hands  had 
ministered  so  kindly  to  his  wants,  and  who  had  so  cheer- 
fully divided  with  him  their  scanty  meals,  even  though 
hunger  was  written  upon  their  thin,  haggard  faces,  and 
stared  in  theii*  sunken  eyes.  And  "Will  had  taken  down 
each  name,  and  registered  a  vow  that  if  ever  he  I'eached 
the  North,  these  noble  seK-denying  people  should  be  re- 
warded, andff  possible  removed  from  a  neighborhood 
where  they  suffered  so  much  from  privation  and  from  the 
hands  of  their  former  friends,  who,  suspecting  their  sen- 
timents, heaped  upon  them  every  possible  abuse.  Ragged, 
bareheaded,  footsore  and  worn,  he  came  at  last,  at  the 
close  of  a  June  day,  to  the  entrance  of  a  cave  in  the  hills 
to  which  he  had  been  directed,  and  where,  on  the  damp 


THE  HTJNTED  SOLDIER.  807 

earth,  lie  slept  so  soundly  from  fatigue  and  exhaustion 
that  the  morning  sun  was  shining  through  the  entrance 
to  the  cave,  and  a  robin,  on  a  shrub  growing  near,  was 
trilling  its  morning  song  ere  he  awoke.  The  air,  though 
damp  from  the  water  which  trickled  through  the  rocks, 
was  close  and  stifling,  and  Will  crept  cautiously  out  from 
his  hiding-place,  and  sitting  down  upon  the  ground 
drank  in  the  beauty  and  stillness  of  the  summer  morning. 
Exactly  where  he  was  he  did  not  know,  but  he  felt  cer- 
tain that  his  face  was  toward  the  land  where  the  Stars 
and  Stripes  were  waving,  and  a  thrill  of  joy  ran  through 
his  veins  as  he  thought  of  home  and  Kose,  whose  eyes  by 
this  time  had  grown  so  dim  with  looking  for  him.  "  God 
take  me  safely  to  her,"  he  whispered,  when  up  the  moun- 
tain side  came  the  sound  of  voices  and  the  tramp  of  feet. 
Creeping  to  the  farthest  side  of  the  cave,  and  crawling 
down  beneath  the  shelving  rock  where  the  cool  waters 
were  dripping,  he  hoped  to  avoid  being  seen.  Up  to 
this  moment  Will's  courage  had  never  flagged,  but  now, 
when  the  Federal  lines  were  not  many  miles  away,  and 
Eose  and  home  seemed  certain,  he  felt  a  great  pang  of 
fear,  and  his  white  Hps  whispered,  "  God  pity  me !  God 
help  me,  God  save  me,  for  his  own  glory,  if  not  for  Rose's 
sake,"  then,  knee-deep  in  the  pool  of  water,  he  stood  with 
his  body  nearly  double,  while  the  voices  and  the  feet  came 
nearer,  and  at  last  stopped  directly  in  front  of  his  hiding 
place. 

There  were  terrible  oaths  outside,  and  bitter  denuncia- 
tions were  breathed  against  any  luckless  Union  man 
who  might  be  lurking  near,  and  then  the  light  from  the 
entrance  of  the  cave  was  wholly  obscured,  and  Will  saw 
that  a  man's  back  was  against  the  opening,  as  if  some 
one  were  sitting  there.  Did  they  know  of  the  cave  ? 
Would  they  come  in  there,  and  if  they  did  would  they 
find  him  ?    Will  kept   asking  himself  these   questions, 


808  ROSE  MATHER. 

and  his  breatli  came  gaspingly  as  he  knew  that  the  man 
whose  back  barred  the  entrance  to  his  hiding-place  was 
the  bitterest  in  his  invectives  against  the  Yankees,  and 
the  most  anxious  to  find  them.  Something  in  his  voice 
and  language  indicated  both  education  and  position  su- 
perior to  his  companions,  who  evidently  looked  up  to 
him  as  their  leader,  calling  him  "  Square"  and  acquiescing^ 
readily  when,  after  the  lapse  of  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  he 
suggested  that  they  go  higher  up  the  mountain  to  a 
gorge  where  some  of  the  fugitives  had  heretofore  taken 
refuge. 

Five  minutes  more  and  the  footsteps  and  voices  were 
heard  far  up  the  mountain,  and  Will  breathed  more 
freely  again,  and  kneeling  down  in  the  pool  of  water, 
thanked  God  who  had  tm-ned  the  danger  aside,  and  kept 
him  a  little  longer.  He  did  not  dare  leave  the  cave,  but 
he  came  out  from  under  the  rock,  and  stretching  himself 
upon  the  gi'ound  tried  to  wring  and  di-y  the  tatters 
which  hung  so  loosely  upon  him. 

It  was  two  days  since  he  had  tasted  food,  and  the  long 
fast  began  to  make  itself  felt  in  the  keen  pangs  of  hun- 
ger. Surely  he  could  venture  out  toward  the  close  of 
the  day,  he  thought,  and  see  if  there  were  not  berries 
growing  in  the  ledges,  and  when  the  sun  was  setting  he 
crawled  to  the  mouth  of  the  cavern,  where  just  in  the 
best  place  for  him  to  see  it  lay  a  huge  corn-cake  and 
shce  of  bacon,  wrapped  nicel;j  in  a  bit  of  paper. 

How  it  came  there  he  did  not  stop  to  ask.  That  it 
was  there  was  sufficient  for  him  then,  and  never  had  the 
costhest  dinner,  served  on  massive  silver,  tasted  to  him 
half  so  well  as  did  that  bit  of  bacon  with  the  coarse  corn- 
bread. 

Refreshed  and  encouraged  he  went  back  to  his  hiding- 
place,  intending  to  start  again  on  his  perilous  journey 


THE  HUNTED   SOLDIEE.  309 

when  the  mountain  path  grew  dark  enough  to  warrant 
him  in  doing  so.  But  soon  after  the  sunsetting  a  fearful 
storm  came  up,  and  in  the  pitchy  darkness  of  the  cave 
Will  listened  to  the  bellowing  thunder  roaring  through 
the  mountain  gorges,  and  saw  from  the  opening  the 
forked  lightning  which  struck  more  than  one  tall  tree 
near  the  place  of  his  concealment.  Fed  by  the  rain 
which  had  fallen  in  torrents,  the  stream  under  the  pro- 
jecting rock  was  beginning  to  rise  and  spread  itself  over 
the  surface  of  the  cave.  It  was  up  to  his  ankles  now, 
and  it  rose  so  rapidly  that  Will  was  thinking  of  leaving 
the  cave  and  groping  his  way  as  well  as  he  could  to  the 
westward,  when  his  quick  ear  caught  the  sound  as  of 
two  or  more  persons  coming  stealthily  up  the  moun- 
tain side.  Whoever  they  were  they  seemed  to  move 
with  the  utmost  caution,  and  Will's  heart  beat  high  as 
he  hoped  it  might  be  some  brother  fugitives  seeking  the 
shelter  of  the  cave.  The  gleam  of  a  lantern,  however, 
and  the  same  voice  he  had  heard  in  the  morning  cursing 
the  Yankees  so  bitterly  dispelled  that  illusion,  and  in  a 
tremor  of  terror  he  drew  back  in  his  watery  quarters, 
crawhng  in  the  darkness  to  the  farthest  end  of  the  cav- 
ern, and  feeling  the  rising  water  flow  over  his  knees  as 
he  waited  for  what  might  come  next. 

"  Stay  here,  Charlie,  while  I  go  in.  I  know  he  must 
be  here,  and  if  he  isn't  drowned  by  this  time  it's  just  a 
special  Providence,  that's  all  I  have  to  say." 

Surely  that  was  no  unfriendly  voice,  notwithstanding 
the  oaths  of  the  morning,  but  still  Will  did  not  move 
until  the  stranger,  who  evidently  knew  every  turn  and 
nook  of  the  cavern,  was  so  near  to  him  that  the  light' 
from  the  dark  lantern  fell  fuU  upon  his  face  and 
betrayed  him  at  once.  There  was  a  thought  of  Kose, 
and  the  freedom  he  had  almost  regained,  and  then  for- 


310  ROSOE  MATHER. 

getting  the  friendlj^  tones,  Will  gave  a  low,  bitter  moan, 
and  stretcliing  out  bis  bands,  said  imploringly, 

" Kill  me  here  as  well  as  anywhere,  and  let  the  sus- 
pense be  ended." 

"  Kill  you,  my  boy  ?"  and  the  stranger  spoke  cheerily 
as  he  bent  over  poor  Will  and  rubbed  his  clammy  hands. 
"  What  should  I  kill  you  for  ?  I've  had  my  eyes  on  you 
ever  since  yesterday  evening,  when  I  saw  you  creeping 
under  the  brushwood,  and  knew  you  were  hunting  for 
this  cave.  The  *  Eefuge  of  Safety,'  I  call  it,  and  it  has 
proved  so  to  many  a  poor  devil  who  like  yourself  has 
taken  shelter  here.  I  have  never  known  one  to  fail  of 
reaching  the  happy  land  when  once  they  got  so  far  as 
this,  so  cheer  up,  my  man.  Paul  Haverill  can  swear  a 
string  of  swears  about  the  Yanks  which  will  reach  from 
here  to  Richmond,  if  necessary,  and  then  when  the 
hounds  are  thrown  off  the  track  he  can  turn  round  and 
save  the  poor  hunted  rascal's  life.  You  are  among  your 
friends,  so  come  out  from  this  puddle.  You  must  be 
wetter  than  a  rat.  There's  a  spring  under  the  rocks, 
and  it  rises  in  a  rain  so  as  to  fill  the  cave  sometimes. 
Here,  Charlie,  give  us  that  shawl,  his  teeth  are  fairly 
chattering." 

Thus  talking,  the  stranger,  who  had  announced  him- 
self as  Paul  Haverill,  led  Will  out  to  where  the  boy 
CharUe  stood,  holding  a  bright  plaid  shawl  in  his  hand, 
and  looking  curiously  at  the  worn,  drooping,  sorry  fig- 
ure emerging  from  the  cave.  It  was  a  woman's  shawl. 
Will  knew,  but  it  was  very  soft  and  warm,  and  he  wrapt 
it  closely  round  him,  for  he  was  shaking  with  cold,  and 
his  tattered  garments  were  wringing  wet.  Very  few 
words  were  spoken,  and  those  in  a  whisper,  as  they  went 
cautiously  down  the  mountain  until  they  reached  what 
seemed  to  be   a  road  winding   among  the  hiUs.     This 


THE  HUNTED  SOLDIER  311 

they  did  not  follow,  but,  striking  into  the  field  or  pasture 
land  beside  it,  kept  t(9  the  right,  and  at  a  safe  distance 
from  it,  lest  some  straggler  might  be  abroad,  and  meet 
them  face  to  face.  Will  Mather  was  enough  acquainted 
with  Southern  customs  not  to  be  surprised  to  find  here 
in  the  mountain  wilds  a  substantial  and  even  handsome- 
looking  building,  which,  with  its  white  walls  and  green 
blinds,  seemed  much  like  the  farm-houses  in  New  Eng- 
land. There  was  a  hght  shining  from  the  windows,  and 
a  woman's  brisk  step  was  heard  as  they  went  toward  the 
door;  Paul  Haverill  coughing,  to  give  warning  of  his  ap- 
proach. 

"  All  right !"  was  the  pass-word  by  which  they  entered, 
and  Will  soon  stood  in  the  wide  hall  which  ran  through 
the  entire  building,  and  opened  in  the  rear  upon  a  broad 
piazza. 

*'  Better  take  him  to  Miss  Maude's  room,"  the  woman 
said,  and  Will  followed  on  to  an  upper  chamber,  which, 
he  would  have  known  at  once  belonged  to  a  young  lady. 

It  was  not  as  elegantly  furnished  as  his  own  sleeping 
apartment  at  home,  but  it  bore  unmistakable  marks  of 
taste  and  refinement;  while  the  air  of  pure  gentle  wo- 
manhood, which  pervaded  it,  brought  Eose  very  vividly 
before  him. 

"This  is  my  niece's  room,  Maude  De  Yere,"  Mr.  Hav- 
erill explained,  when  they  were  alone,  and  Will  was  dry- 
ing himself  before  the  fire,  kindled  by  the  woman  who 
had  admitted  them,  and  who.  Will  saw,  was  a  mulatto. 
"  My  niece  is  not  at  home  now,"  he  continued.  "  She  is 
in  South  Carohna;  has  been  gone  several  months  on  a 
visit  to  old  Judge  Tunbridge,  her  mother's  uncle.  I'm 
her  mother's  brother,  and  she  and  the  boy  Charlie  have 
Hved  with  me  since  the  first  year  of  the  war.  Their  fa- 
ther was  Captain  De  Vere,  from  North  Carolina,  and  was 


312  ROSE  MATHER. 

killed  at  the  first  Bull  Kun.  IN^elly,  tj^ir  mother,  never 
held  up  her  head  after  that.  I  "wits  with  her  when  she 
died,  and  brought  the  children  home.  Maude  is  twenty 
now,  and  Charhe  fourteen.  I  am  their  guardian. 
Maude  is  Union,  Charhe  secesh,  but  safe.  They  have  a 
great  deal  of  property  here  and  there,  though  how  it 
will  come  through  the  w^ar,  the  Lord  only  knows." 

"Will  was  glad  to  see  that  his  host  was  inclined  to  talk 
on  without  waiting  for  answers,  and  he  kept  quiet,  while 
Mr.  Haverill  continued: 

"  I  dare  say  you  wonder  to  find  a  chap  like  me  among 
people  who  are  so  bitter  against  you  Yankees,  and  I 
sometimes  wonder  at  myself.  I  am  South  Carolina  born, 
and  ought  to  be  foremost  in  the  rebellion;  but  hanged  if 
I  can  see  that  it  is  right.  "Why,  /  might  as  well  set 
up  a  government  of  my  own,  here  on  the  Oak  Plantation, 
and  refuse  to  come  under  any  civilized  laws  Mind, 
though,  I  don't  think  the  South  all  wrong, — not  a  bit  of 
it.  The  North  did  bully  us,  and  the  election  of  J^lr.  Lin- 
coln was  particularly  obnoxious  to  the  majority  here, 
but  we  had  no  right  to  secede,  and  you  did  your  duty 
trying  to  drive  us  back.  For  a  spell  I  kept  quiet, — didn't 
take  either  side;  or  if  I  did,  I  wanted  the  South  to  beat, 
as  all  my  interests  are  here.  But  when  our  folks  got  to 
abusing  their  prisoners  so  shamefully,  and  told  so  many 
Hes  byway  of  deceiving  us  feUows  who  hve  among  the  hills 
and  only  get  the  news  once  or  twice  a  week,  I  changed 
my  politics,  and  after  the  day  when  I  found  one  of  my 
neighbors,  and  the  best  man  that  ever  breathed,  too, 
hung  to  a  tree  like  a  dog,  with  the  word  '  Abolitionist ' 
piimed  to  his  coat,  I  made  a  vow  that  every  energy  I 
had  should  be  given  to  caring  for  and  helping  just  such 
wretches  as  you,  and  if  I've  helped  one  I've  helped  a 


THE   HUNTED  SOLDIER  313 

thousand.  Why,  at  least  a  hundred  have  slept  in  this 
very  room, — Maude's  room;  for,  as  I  told  you,  she  is 
Union  to  the  backbone,  and  led  one  chap  across  the 
mountain  herself.  She  is  a  regular  Di  Vernon,  and  is 
not  afraid  of  the  very  de'il.  When  she  went  away  she 
bade  me  put  them  in  here,  as  the  room  least  Hable  to 
suspicion.  To  the  folks  around  me  I  am  the  roughest 
kind  of  a  Secessionist,  and  I  suppose  nobody  can  beat 
me  swearing  about  the  Yankees,  just  to  hoodwink  'em, 
you  know.  I  suppose  that's  wrong;  my  wife  would  say 
so;  she  was  a  saint  when  she  was  here, — she  is  an  angel 
now.  Shedied  five  years  ago, — before  the  war  broke  out; 
and  Lois,  the  woman  you  saw,  has  been  my  housekeeper 
since.  I  shouldn't  Hke  the  North  to  take  her  from  me. 
They  tried  it  once, — when  a  squad  of  'em  ransacked  my 
house, — and  I  was  sick  in  bed.  Maude  threatened  to 
blow  their  brains  out :  and,  sir,  she  would  have  done  it, 
too,  if  the  scamps  hadn't  let  Lois  alone. 

*'  I  don't  agree  with  your  folks  on  the  nigger  question, 
though  none  of  mine  has  run  away  since  the  Proclama- 
tion, which  I  did  not  like.  They  know,  too,  they  are 
free,  or  will  be  when  the  Yankees  come,  for  I  took  pains 
to  tell  th^n,  and  gave  them  liberty  to  cut  stick  for  the 
Federal  lines  as  soon  as  they  pleased;  but  they  staid,  and 
great  help  I  find  them  in  the  business  I'm  carrying  on. 
They  are  constantly  on  the  lookout  for  runaways  or  refu- 
gees, and  are  quite  as  good  as  bloodhounds  to  scent  one. 
They  told  me  about  you,  and  I  watched  and  saw  you  go 
into  that  cave,  which  is  on  my  land,  and  which  few  know 
about,  or  if  they  do  they  think  it  a  springhole,  and  never 
dream  that  anybody  can  hide  in  there.  Somebody  else 
must  have  seen  you,  too,  for  word  came  that  a  man  was 
hiding  in  the  mountains,  and  as  the  acknowledged  leader 
of  as  hard  a  set  as  ever  hunted  a  Yankee,  I  went  with 
14 


314  KOSE  MATHER 

'ejn  to  find  you,  and  carried  in  my  pocket  tLat  bacon 
and  corn  bread  which  I  managed  to  drop  into  the  cave 
•when  I  sat  with  my  back  against  it.  I  knew  3'ou  must 
be  hungry,  and  it  might  be  some  time  before  I  could 
come  to  your  aid.  "We  didn't  find  the  chap;  but  to-mor- 
row they'll  be  at  it  again,  and  so,  while  I  help  'em  hunt 
for  a  man  about  your  build,  you  will  stay  in  the  room 
in  Lois's  charge.  Maude  has  a  good  many  gimcracks 
here,  such  as  books  and  things,  which  may  amuse  you. 
She  is  coming  home  by  and  by.  The  house  is  veiy  dif- 
ferent then.  You  ought  to  see  Maude.  We  are  very 
proud  of  her.  That's  her  picture,  only  not  half  so  good- 
looking,"  and  he  pointed  to  a  small  oil  paintiQg  hanging 
above  the  mantel. 

It  was  a  splendid  head,  and  the  glossy  black  hair 
bound  about  it  in  heavy  braids  gave  it  a  still  more  regal 
look.  The  eyes,  too,  were  black,  but  very  soft  and  gen- 
tle in  their  expression,  though  something  about  them 
gave  the  impression  that  they  might  flash  and  blaze  bril- 
liantly under  excitement.  It  was  a  beautiful  face,  and 
"Wni  did  not  wonder  that  his  host  was  proud  of 
his  niece, — prouder  even  than  of  the  pale-faced,  delicate 
boy,  who  next  day,  while  the  hunt  for  the  runaway  went 
on  among  the  mountains,  tried  to  entertain  Will  Mather 
by  telling  him  of  his  old  home  in  North  Carolina,  and 
how  happy  they  were  there  before  the  war  came  and 
took  his  father  away. 

"  I  don't  see  it  in  the  light  Uncle  Paul  and  sister  do,'* 
Charlie  said.  "  I  don't  want  them  to  catch  and  tormeub 
the  prisoners,  or  murder  folks  who  don't  think  as  they 
do;  but  I  do  want  our  side  to  succeed,  and  when  I  hear 
of  a  victory  I  say  '  Hun-ah  for  the  Confederacy^  !*  I  can't 
help  it  when  I  think  of  father,  who  was  kiUed  by  the 
Yankees,  and  all  the  trouble  the  war  has  brought.     I'm 


THE    HUNTED    SOLDIEK.  815 

willing  to  work  like  a  dog  for  the  refugees  and  prisoners, 
and  I'd  die  sooner  than  betray  one,  but  if  I  was  a  man 
I'd  join  Mr.  Davis's  army  sure." 

The  pale  face  of  the  boy  was  flushed  aU  over,  and  his 
dark  eyes  burned  with  Southern  fire  as  he  frankly 
avowed  his  sentiments,  and  WiU  Mather  could  not  re- 
press a  smile  at  this  noble  specimen  of  a  Southern  rebeL 

"I  like  you,  my  boy,  for  your  frankness,"  he  said, 
"  and  when  the  war  is  over,  I  shall  have  to  send  for  you 
to  come  North  and  be  cured  of  your  treason." 

"It  is  not  treason"  and  the  boy  stamped  his  girlish 
foot.  "It  is  not  treason  any  more  than  the  views  held 
by  the  Revolutionary  soldiers.  Didn't  the  colonies  se- 
cede from  England,  and  does  anybody  caU  Washington  a 
traitor  now  ?  I  tell  you  it  is  success  which  decides  the 
nature  of  the  thing.  If  we  succeed,  futui-e  historians  will 
speak  of  us  as  patriots,  as  a  persecuted  people,  who  gave 
our  lives  in  defence  of  our  homes  and  firesides." 

"  You  won't  succeed,  my  poor  boy.  The  Confederacy 
is  gasping  its  last  breath.  You  wiU  be  conquered  at  the 
last,  and  then  what  have  you  gained  ?" 

"Nothing, — nothing  but  ruin!"  and  the  tears  poured 
over  the  white  face  of  this  defender  of  Southern  rights. 

Soon  recovering  himself,  however,  he  exclaimed, 
proudly : 

"We  may  be  conquered,  but  not  subjugated.  You 
can't  do  that  with  all  your  countless  hordes  of  men,  and 
your  millions  of  money.  The  North  can  never  subjugate 
the  South.  We  may  lay -down  our  arms  because  we  have 
no  other  alternative,  but  we  shall  still  think  the  same, 
and  feel  the  same  as  we  do  now." 

Here  was  a  curious  study  for  WiU  Mather,  who  was 
surprised  to  find  such  maturity  of  thought  and  so  strong 
determination  in  one  so  young  and  frail. 


816  ROSE   MATHER. 

"  No  wonder  it  is  hard  to  conquer  a  people  composed 
of  such  elements,"  he  thought,  and  he  was  about  to  con- 
tinue the  conversation  when  he  was  startled  by  a  loud 
blast  from  a  horn  among  the  hills. 

"  They've  caught  some  one.  They  always  do  that  as 
a  kind  of  exultation,"  the  boy  exclaimed,  wringing  his 
hands,  and  evincing  as  much  distress  as  he  had  hereto- 
fore shown  bitterness  against  the  opposing  party. 

It  was  a  poor  refugee  from  a  neighboring  county, 
whom,  in  spite  of  Paul  Haverill's  precautions,  they  had 
found  in  a  hollow  tree,  and  whom  they  brought  more 
dead  than  alive  down  to  the  Oak  Plantation,  amid  vocif- 
erous cries  of  "Tar  and  feather  him!"  "  Hang  him  to  a 
sour-apple  tree!"  "Give  him  a  taste  of  the  halter!" 
"  Make  him  an  example  to  all  other  sneaking  Yankee 
sympathizers !" 

With  his  face  as  white  as  marble,  and  his  lips  set  firm- 
ly together,  Paul  Haverill  stood  in  the  midst  of  the  noisy 
group  which  he  tried  to  quiet. 

"Let  us  try  him  by  jury,"  he  said,  and  something  in 
his  voice  reassured  the  frightened,  haggard  wretch,  who 
had  seen  his  house  burned  down  and  his  son  shot  before 
his  very  eyes,  and  of  course  expected  no  mercy. 

The  trial  by  jury  proved  popular,  and  then  Paul  Hav- 
eidll  suggested  that  a  judge  be  chosen  in  the  person  of 
some  one  who  had  lost  a  near  friend  in  the  war,  and  was 
of  course  competent  to  mete  out  full  justice  to  the  crim- 
inal— "  Charhe,  for  instance,"  and  his  eye  fell  on  the 
boy,  who  had  joined  the  crowd  and  was  standing  close 
by  the  prisoner.  The  boy  caught  his  uncle's  meaning  at 
once,  and  exclaimed : 

"  Yes,  let  me  be  the  judge.  My  father  was  killed  at 
Bull  Eun.  My  mother  died  of  grief.  Surely  I  may 
decide." 


THE  HUNTED    SOLDIER  817 

Charlie  De  Vere  was  a  favorite  with  the  men,  who 
Imew  how  staunch  a  Confederate  he  was,  and,  waiving  the 
trial  for  want  of  time,  they  said: 

"  CharHe  shall  decide  whether  we  hang,  drown,  whip^ 
or  tar  and  feather  the  prisoner  at  the  bar." 

Then,  with  far  more  energy  and  fire  than  had  charac- 
terized his  vindication  of  the  South,  Charlie  De  Vere 
pleaded  for  the  criminal,  that  they  would  let  him  go, 
"Just  this  once,  for  father's  sake,  and  mine,  and 
Maude's,"  he  said;  and,  at  the  mention  of  Maude,  the 
dark  brows  began  to  clear,  and  the  scowhng  faces  grew 
more  lenient  in  their  expression,  for  Maude  De  Vere  was 
worshiped  by  the  rough  men  of  the  mountains,  who, 
though  they  knew  her  sympathies  were  on  the  Union 
side,  made  an  exception  in  her  favor,  and  held  her  per- 
son and  opinions  sacred.  For  her  sake,  they  would  let 
their  captive  go,  giving  him  warning  to  leave  the  neigh- 
borhood at  once,  nor  let  himself  be  seen  again  in  their 
midst  while  the  war  lasted. 

And  thus  it  chanced  that'  Will  Mather  had  a  compan- 
ion in  his  wanderings,  which  were  renewed  the  following 
day;  the  boy  Charlie  acting  as  guide  through  the  most 
dangerous  part  of  the  way,  and  at  last  bidding  him 
good-bye,  with  great  tears  in  his  eyes,  as  he  said: 

"I  hope  you  won't  be  caught;  but  I  don't  know,  the 
woods  are  full  of  our  soldiers.  Travel  at  night,  and  hide 
through  the  day.  Trust  no  one,  but  the  negroes;  and  if 
you  are  captured,  ask  for  mercy  in  sister's  name.  Every- 
body knows  Maude  De  Vere." 


818  EOSE  MATHER. 

CHAPTER  XXYin. 

THE   DEAD    ALIVE. 

)  y  ^  T  was  the  niglit  of  the  third  of  July,  the  anniver- 
n()/^  sary,  as  she  supposed,  of  her  husband's  death, 
^^^c^l  and  Eose  was  sitting  up  unusually  late.  She 
could  not  sleep  for  thinking  of  one  year  ago,  and  the 
white-faced  man  who  lay  upon  the  battle-field  with  the 
rain  falHng  upon  him. 

It  was  a  clear  starhght  night,  and  she  leaned  many 
times  from  her  open  window  and  looked  up  at  the  kindly 
eyes  keeping  watch  above  her.  But  she  did  not  see  the 
figure  coming  down  the  street  and  up  the  walk  to  their 
own  door;  the  figure  of  a  worn-out  soldier,  who  from 
the  prison  at  SaHsbury  had  escaped  to  Tennessee,  and 
had  come  fi'om  thence  straight  on  until  the  midnight 
train  dropped  him  at  the  Rockland  station. 

The  light  was  behind  her,  and  Will  saw  her  distinctly 
as  he  went  up  the  avenue,  and  he  stopped  a  moment  to 
look  at  her.  She  was  very  pale,  and  much  thinner  than 
when  he  saw  her  last,  but  never,  even  on  her  bridal  day, 
had  she  seemed  so  beautiful  to  him  as  then,  when  lean- 
ing from  her  window,  and  apparently  listening  for  some- 
thing. 

It  was  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  as  he  came  up  the 
walk  which  had  attracted  her  attention,  and  when  it 
ceased  so  suddenly  as  he  stopped  under  the  trees,  she 
felt  a  momentary  pang  of  fear,  for  burglars  had  been  very 
common  in  the  town  that  summer.  Possibly  this  was 
one  of  the  robbers,  and  Rose  was  thinking  of  alarming 
the  house,  when  the  figure  emerged  from  under  the 


THE    DEAD   ALIYE.  319 

shadow  of  the  trees,  and  came  directly  up  beneath  the 
window,  while  a  voice  which  made  Kose's  blood  curdle 
in  her  veins,  called  softly, 

"  Eose,  darling,  is  it  you?" 

Had  the  dead  come  back  to  hfe  ?  "Was  that  her  hus- 
band's voice,  and  that  his  step  in  the  lower  hall  ?  Kose 
had  supposed  the  front  door  bolted.  She  had  not  heard 
it  open,  and  now,  when  the  steps  sounded  upon  the 
stairs,  her  heart  gave  one  throb  of  fear,  as  all  the  old 
superstitious  stories  of  New  England  lore  rushed  to  her 
mind.  Perhaps  on  this  anniversary  of  his  death  he  had 
come  back  to  see  her.     And  perhaps 

Eose  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  for  the  opening  of 
her  own  door  disclosed  the  wasted  figure  of  a  man  wear- 
ing the  army  blue,  his  face  very  pale,  but  lighted  up  with 
perfect  joy  as  he  stretched  his  arms  toward  the  shrink- 
ing woman  by  the  window,  and  said: 

"  Come  to  me,  darling;  I  am  no  ghost." 

Then  she  went  to  him,  but  uttered  no  sound.  Her 
heart  was  too  full  for  that,  and  seemed  bursting  from 
her  throat  as  she  laid  her  head  upon  the  bosom  of  her 
husband,  and  felt  his  arms  around  her  waist  and  neck. 
Her  stillness  frightened  him,  it  was  so  unHke  her,  and 
lifting  her  from  the  fioor,  he  took  her  in  his  lap,  and  said 
to  her: 

"  Speak  to  me,  Eose.  Let  me  hear  your  voice  once 
more.  You  thought  I  was  dead,  and  you've  been  so 
sorrv." 

" Tes,  killed  at  Gettysburg,"  came  gaspingly  at  last; 
and  then  a  storm  of  tears  and  kisses  fell  upon  Will's  face, 
and  Eose's  arms  were  thrown  about  his  neck  as  she  tried 
to  tell  him  how  great  was  her  joy  to  have  him  back 
again. 

*'  I  have  been  so  lonely,"  she  said,  "  for  everybody  is 


320  ROSE   MATHER 

gone.     Jimmie,  and  Annie,  and  poor  Tom,  too,  is  a  pris- 
oner at  last,  so  mother  and  I  are  all  alone,  except " 

Just  then  it  occurred  to  her  that  her  husband  had  no 
suspicion  of  the  great  joy  in  store  for  him. 

"  How  shall  I  tell  him  T'  she  thought,  and  her  eyes 
went  from  his  face  to  the  basket  and  chair  where  baby's 
clothes  were  lying. 

The  little  white  dress,  with  its  shoulder  knots  of  blue; 
the  flannels  and  the  soft  wool  socks  were  all  there  in 
plain  sight,  and  Will  saw  them,  too,  as  his  eye  followed 
Kose's. 

"  Eose,  tell  me,  what  is  that  ?  "What  does  it  mean  ?" 
he  asked,  and  then,  without  a  word,  Eose  led  him  into 
the  adjoining  room,  where  in  his  crib  slumbered  her 
beautiful  hoj,— their  beautiful  boy  rather.  He  was  hers 
alone  no  longer,  for  the  father  was  there  now,  and  the 
happiest  moment  he  had  ever  known  was  that  when  he 
knelt  by  his  baby's  cradle,  and  felt  how  much  he  had  for 
which  to  thank  his  Maker.  He  could  not  wait  till  morn- 
ing before  he  heard  the  sound  of  his  first-born's  voice, 
and  he  took  him  at  once  in  his  arms,  every  pulse  thrilling 
with  pride  and  exquisite  delight,  as  he  felt  the  soft,  baby 
hands  in  his  own,  and  looked  into  the  beautiful  dark 
eyes  which  met  his  so  wonderingly  as  baby  awoke  and 
gazed  up  into  his  face.  It  was  not  afraid  of  him,  and 
Eose  almost  danced  with  joy  as  she  saw  it  smile  in  its 
father's  face,  and  then  turn  slily  away. 

"  It  was  so  terrible  till  baby  came  last  Christmas,"  she 
said,  beginning  to  explain  how  they  believed  him  (Jead, 
and  how  much  she  had  suffered.  "  Even  baby  did  not 
make  me  as  glad  as  it  ought,"  she  continued,  "  for  I  could 
not  forget  how  happy  you  would  have  been  to  come 
home  and  find  him  here,  and  now  you've  come.  God  ia 
very,  very  good;  I  love  him  now,  Will,  better,  I  hope,  than 


THE    DEAD  ALIYE.  '  321 

I  love  you,  or  baby,  or  anything.  I've  given  baby  to  Him, 
and  given  myself,  too,  but  lie  had  to  punish  me  so  hard 
before  I  would  do  it." 

Then  together  the  re-united  couple  knelt  and  thanked 
the  Father  who  had  remembered  them  so  mercifully,  and 
asked  that  henceforth  their  Hves  might  be  dedicated  to 
his  ser^dce,  and  all  they  had  be  subject  to  his  will. 
There  was  no  more  sleep  in  the  Mather  mansion  that 
night,  for  by  the  time  Mrs.  Carleton  and  the  servants  had 
recovered  from  their  surprise  and  joy,  the  early  morning 
was  red  in  the  east,  and  the  sun  was  just  beginning  to 
show  the  returned  soldier  how  pleasant  and  beautiful 
his  home  was  looking. 

The  people  of  Rockland  had  not  intended  to  have 
much  of  a  celebration  on  that  Fourth  of  July.  The 
churchyard  was  too  full  of  soldiers'  graves,  and  the  war- 
clouds  were  still  too  dark  over  the  land,  while  the  battle 
of  the  "Wilderness,  where  so  many  had  perished,  was  too 
fresh  in  their  minds  to  admit  of  much  festivity  ;  but 
when  it  was  known  that  Will  Mather  had  come  home  the 
town  was  all  on  fire  with  excitement.  Every  bell  was 
rung,  and  the  cannon  of  Bill  Baker  memory  bellowed 
forth  its  welcome,  while  in  the  evening  impromptu  fire- 
works attested  to  the  people's  delight.  Then  followed 
many  days  of  delicious  quiet  in  which  Will  told  his  wife 
and  mother  the  story  of  his  wanderings,  but  said  very 
little  of  his  hfe  in  Salisbury.  That  was  something  he 
could  not  mention  without  a  shudder,  and  so  he  passed 
it  over  in  silence,  choosing  rather  to  tell  of  his  journey 
across  the  moimtains,  where  so  many  friendly  hands  had 
been  stretched  out  to  help  him.  He  had  every  name 
upon  paper,  and  was  only  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to 
show  his  gTatitude  in  some  tangible  form.  Especially 
was  he  grateful  to  Paul  Haverill,  whose  name  became  a 


322  EOSE  MATHER. 

household  word,  together  with  that  of  Charhe  and  Maude? 
De  Vere.  Of  her  Eose  thought  so  often,  wishing  she 
could  see  her,  and  resolving  when  the  war  was  over 
either  to  write  at  once  or  go  all  the  way  to  the  Moun- 
tains of  Tennessee  to  find  her. 

"  Poor  Tom !"  she  often  sighed.  "  If  he  could  only  fall 
into  so  friendly  hands." 

But  everything  pertaining  to  Tom  was  shrouded  in 
gloom.  The  last  the}^  heard  he  was  in  Columbia,  while 
Jimmie  still  pined  in  Andersonville,  if  indeed  he  had  not 
died  amid  its  horrors.  Exchanged  prisoners  were  con- 
stantly arriving  at  Annapohs,  where  both  Iklrs.  Simms 
and  Annie  were,  and  every  letter  from  the  latter  was 
eagerly  torn  open  by  Eose  in  hopes  that  it  might  con- 
tain some  news  of  her  brothers.  But  there  was  none, 
and  the  mourning  garments  which,  with  her  husband's 
return,  were  exchanged  for  lighter,  airier  ones,  seemed 
only  laid  aside  for  a  few  weeks  until  word  should  come 
that  one  or  both  of  her  brothers  were  with  the  dead 
whose  graves  were  far  away  beneath  a  Southern  sky. 


CHAPTEE  XXIX. 

THE    HEROINE    OF   THE   MOUNTAIN. 


F  the  three  captives,  Will  Mather,  Jimmie,  and 
j^^^  Tom,  the  latter  had  suffered  the  least  as  a  pris- 
4^%/  oner  of  war.  A  strong  Freemason,  he  had 
found  friends  at  Columbia,  where  chance  threw  in  his 
way  a  near  relation  of  his  dead  wife  and  a  former  class- 
mate. Though  firmly  beheving  in  the  Southern  cause, 
Joe  Haskell  from  the  first  befriended  Captain  Carle  ton, 


THE  HEROLN'E   OF   THE   MOUNTAIN".  823 

wliom  lie  finally  helped  to  escape,  giving  kim  money,  and 
so  far  as  he  was  able,  directions  where  to  go  and  whom 
to  ask  for  aid.  Tom's  imprisonment  had  been  of  short 
duration,  and  thus  it  was,  with  vigor  unimpaired  and 
spirits  unbroken,  that  he  found  himself  free  on  that  very 
night  when  Will  Mather  lay  sleeping  in  the  cave  among 
the  mountains  of  Tennessee.  But  that  "Refuge  of 
Safety  "  was  many,  many  miles  away,  and  Tom's  route  to 
the  land  of  freedom  was  a  longer  and  far  more  danger- 
ous one  than  Will's  had  been.  Still  Tom  had  in  his  fa- 
vor health  and  strength,  together  with  a  knack  of  pass- 
ing himself  off  as  a  Southerner  whenever  an  opportu- 
nity was  presented,  and  so  for  a  week  or  more  he 
proceeded  with  comparatively  httle  trouble  ;  but  at 
the  end  of  that  time  dangers  and  difficulties  beset  him 
at  every  step,  while  more  than  once  death  or  recapture 
stared  him  in  the  face,  either  from  the  close  proximity  of 
his  pursuers,  or  the  pertinacity  of  the  blood-hounds 
which  were  set  upon  his  track.  Escape  at  times  seemed 
impossible,  and  Tom's  courage  and  strength  were  begin- 
ning to  give  way,  when  one  night,  toward  the  last  of 
June,  he  found  himself  in  a  negro  cabin,  and  an  occupant 
of  a  bed  whose  covering,  though  impregnated  with  the 
peculiar  odor  of  the  sable-hued  faces  around  him,  seemed 
the  very  embodiment  of  sweetness  and  cleanliness  to  the 
tired  and  foot-sore  man,  who  nearly  all  his  life  had  slept 
in  the  finest  linen,  with  lace  or  silken  hangings  about  his 
bed.  For  linen  now  there  was  a  ragged  quilt,  and  the 
bed  was  festooned  with  cobwebs,  while  from  the  black- 
ened rafters  hung  bundles  of  herbs  and  strings  of  pep- 
pers, alternated  here  and  there  with  the  grimy  articles  of 
clothing  which  old  Hetty  had  washed  that  day  for  her 
own  "boys,"  and  in  consequence  of  the  rain  had  hung  in 
her  cabin  to  dry.     Coarse,  heavy  shii'ts  they  were,  but 


S2-i  EOSE    MATIIER. 

Tom,  as  he  watched  them  drying  on  the  pole,  fell  to 
coveting  the  uncouth  things,  and  thought  how  soft  and 
nice  they  would  feel  on  his  rough  flesh.  Then  he 
thought  of  home  and  Kose,  and  wondered  what  she 
would  say  could  she  look  in  upon  him  in  that  negro  hut, 
with  all  those  stalwart  boys  sitting  by,  while  Hetty,  their 
mother,  cooked  the  corn-cake,  and  fried  the  slice  of 
bacon  for  supper.  Two  sat  just  where  Tom  could  see 
them,  while  the  third  was  near  the  door,  keeping  a 
constant  watch  on  the  circuitous  path  leading  from  the 
cabin  to  a  large  dwelhng  on  the  knoll, — "  Marsr's  house," 
— where  to-night  a  number  of  young  people  were  assem- 
bled in  honor  of  the  return  of  the  son  and  heir,  Lieut. 
Arthur,  who  had  been  in  so  many  battles,  and  had  a 
taste  of  prison  hfe  at  the  North. 

Though  bitterly  opposed  to  the  Unionists,  Arthur  was 
truthful,  almost  to  a  fault,  as  some  of  his  auditors 
thought  to  whom  he  was  recounting  the  incidents  of  his 
prison  life.  Comfortable  beds,  decent  bread,  well-cooked 
meat,  with  plenty  of  pure  air  and  wat«r,  he  had  received 
from  the  hands  of  his  enemies;  and  once,  when  for  a 
few  days  he  was  sick,  he  had  been  fed  with  toast  and 
jelly,  and  tea  quite  as  good  as  Hetty  could  make,  he 
said.  And  while  he  talked  more  than  one  present 
thought  of  the  Southern  prisons,  where  so  many  men 
were  dying  from  starvation  and  neglect;  and  one  young 
girl's  eyes  flashed  angrily,  and  her  nostrils  quivered  with 
passion  as  she  burst  out  with  the  exclamation : 

'*  That's  the  story  most  of  our  prisoners  tell  when  they 
come  back  to  us.  Think  you  a  like  report  will  be  car- 
ried North,  if  the  poor  wretches  ever  live  to  get  there  ? 
I  think  it  a  shame  to  allow  such  sufi'ering  in  our  midst." 

This  speech,  which  had  in  it  the  ring  of  Unionism,  did 
not  startle  the  hearers  as  much  as  might  be  expevfc<*rL 


THE   HEKOINE   OF  THE   MOUNTALN".  825 

They  were  accustomed  to  Maude  De  Vere's  outspoken 
way,  and  they  knew  that  when  she  first  came  among  them 
she  was  on  the  Federal  side,  and  had  opposed  the  seces- 
sion movement  with  all  the  force  of  her  girl  nature.  As 
yet  no  harm  had  been  threatened  her,  for  Maude  was  one 
to  whom  aU  paid  deference,  and  her  clear  arguments 
touching  the  right  of  secession  had  done  much  toward 
keeping  alive  a  feehng  of  humanity  for  our  prisoners  in 
the  family  where  for  months  she  had  been  a  guest. 

Squire  Tunbridge — or  Judge,  as  he  was  frequently 
called — was  her  near  relative,  and  as  his  only  daughter 
had  died  only  two  years  before,  and  he  was  very  lonely  in 
his  great  house,  he  had  invited  Maude  to  visit  him,  and 
insisted  upon  her  staying  as  long  as  possible.  At  first 
he  had  laughed  at  her  Yankee  preferences,  but  when  the 
deaths  at  Salisbury  and  Andersonville  increased  so  fast, 
he  shook  his  head  sadly  and  protested  against  the  cruel- 
ty and  neglect  of  the  government.  "  He  did  not  believe 
in  killing  men  by  inches,"  he  said;  "better  shoot  them  at 
once."  And  still  he  would  not  willingly  have  harbored 
a  runaway  on  his  premises,  for  fear  of  the  odium  which 
would  attach  to  him  if  the  fact  were  known. 

And  so,  when  late  that  night,  while  Tom  lay  sleeping 
in  Hetty's  cabin,  and  Hetty,  up  at  the  big  house,  was 
waiting  upon  the  guests  and  making  secret  signs  to  Maude 
De  Vere,  there  came  a  band  of  men  into  the  yard  in  pjir- 
suit  of  an  escaped  Yankee,  the  Squire  roused  at  once, 
saying  that  no  one  could  possibly  be  hidden  on  his  plan- 
tation unless  the  blacks  had  secreted  him.  The  negro 
houses  were  close  by;  they  could  look  for  themselves.  He 
had  supposed  his  servants  loyal,  but  there  was  no  telling 
in  these  perilous  times;  and  the  old  man's  face  flushed  as 
his  Southern  blood  fii'ed  his  zeal  for  the  Southern  cause. 

In  her  evening  dress  of  white,  with  her  bands  of  glossy 


326  ROSE   MATHER. 

black  liair  bound  like  a  coronet  around  her  regal  broW; 
Maude  Dg  Vere  stood  leaning  upon  the  piano,  her  eyes 
shining  like  burning  coals,  and  her  hps  slightly  parted 
as  she  listened  to  the  conversation,  and  then  darted  an 
anxious  glance  toward  the  spot  where  Hetty  had  been 
standing  a  moment  before.  But  Hetty  had  disappeared, 
and  under  cover  of  darkness  was  running  and  roUing  and 
slipping  down  the  steep  wet  path,  which  led  to  her  cabin 
door. 

Arrived  there,  she  seized  the  sleeping  Tom  by  the  ann, 
and  exclaimed: 

"  Wake  up,  mars'r,  for  de  dear  lord's  sake !  De  Sesh- 
ioners  is  come,  and  will  be  here  in  a  minute !  I'm  mighty 
'fraid  even  Miss  Maude  can't  save  you!" 

Tom  was  awake  in  a  moment  and  fiilly  alive  to  the 
danger  of  his  condition. .  From  the  house  on  the  knoll, 
he  could  hear  the  excited  voices  of  his  pursuers,  and  the 
sound  made  every  pulse  throb  with  fear. 

"Tell  me  what  to  do,"  he  said,  and  Hetty  repHed, 

"Kin  you  bar  smotherin'  for  a  spell?  If  you  kin,  git 
under  de  ole  straw  tick,  and  lie  right  still  and  flat,  and 
you,  Hal,  buckle  into  marsr's  j)lace,  as  if  'twas  you  who've 
been  lyin'  here  all  the  time." 

Tom  did  not  hesitate  a  moment,  and  had  just  straight- 
ened himself  under  the  straw  bed,  and  drawn  a  long 
breath  as  he  felt  Harry's  body  settling  down  above  him, 
when  steps  were  heard  coming  down  the  path,  and  a 
young  man's  voice  asked  of  Hetty  if  she  had  any  strangers 
there — "any  Yankees,  you  know;  because  if  you  have — '* 
the  young  man  paused  a  moment  and  peered  out  iuto 
the  night  to  make  sure  that  no  one  was  listening,  then,  in 
a  whisper,  he  added,  "  Keep  them  safe,  and  remember, 
Fieetfoot  knows  all  the  passes  of  the  mountains  between 
here  and  Tennessee." 


THE  HEROINE  OF  THE  IIOUXTAIN".  327 

A  suppressed  "  thank  God !"  might  almost  have  been 
heard  beneath  the  straw  bed,  while  old  Hetty  ex- 
claimed, 

"  The  Lord  bless  Mars'r  xirthur,  and  Miss  Maude,  too ! 
I  know  it  is  her  doins." 

And  Hetty  was  right,  for  Tom  Carleton  owed  his  es- 
cape from  that  great  peril,  to  Maude  De  Vere  rather 
than  to  Lieutenant  Arthur.  "When  the  order  was  given 
to  search  the  negro  quarters,  Arthur  had  seen  that  in 
Maude's  face  which  constrained  him  to  follow  her  when 
she  beckoned  to  him  to  come  out  upon  the  piazza. 

"Arthur,"  she  said,  putting  her  lips  to  his  ear,  "re- 
member the  kind  treatment  you  received  from  your  en- 
emies, and  be  merciful.  Don't  let  them  find  him,  for 
there  is  a  Yankee  soldier  down  in  Hetty's  cabin.  She 
told  me  to-night.  Search  her  house  youi'self.  Throw 
them  off  the  track.  Anything  to  mislead  them.  Be 
merciful.     Do  it,  Arthur,  for  my  sake." 

Always  beautiful,  Maude  De  Vere  was  dazzlingly  so 
now,  as  she  stood  before  the  young  officer  pleading  for 
Tom  Carleton,  and  Arthur  Tunbridge  was  more  influenced 
by  her  beauty,  than  by  any  party  feelings.  Assuming  a 
fierce,  determined  manner,  he  went  back  to  the  pursuers 
and  said, 

"  It's  perfectly  preposterous  that  one  of  those  Unionists 
should  come  here  for  protection,  when  it  is  well  known 
what  we  are.  Still  it  may  be.  There's  no  piece  of  ef- 
fi-ontery  they  are  not  capable  of.  I  know  them  weU,  just 
as  I  knew  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  negro  cabins. 
Stay  here,  gentlemen,  and  take  some  refi-eshment  while  I 
search  the  quarters  myself." 

Arthur  Tunbridge  wore  a  lieutenant's  uniform.  He 
had  been  in  the  army  from  the  very  first;  he  had  fought 
in  many  a  battle;  had  been  a  prisoner  for  four  months, 


328  ROSE   MATHEFw 

while  his  father  was  known  to  be  a  staunch  secessionist, 
who  was  ready  to  sacrifice  all  he  had  for  the  success  ol 
the  cause  he  beheved  to  be  so  just  and  righteous.  There 
could  be  no  cheating  in  such  a  family  as  this,  and  so, 
while  Maude  De  Vere  wore  her  most  winning  smile,  and 
with  her  own  hands  served  cake  and  coffee  to  the  soldiers, 
Lieutenant  Arthur  went  on  his  tour  of  investigation,  and 
brought  back  word  that  not  a  trace  of  a  itmaway  had  he 
found,  notwithstanding  that  every  cabin  on  the  premises 
had  been  visited.  A  savage  oath  was  the  answer  to  this 
report,  but  something  in  Maude's  eyes  kept  the  soldiers 
in  check  and  made  them  tolerably  civil,  as  they  mounted 
their  horses,  and  with  a  respectful  good-night,  rode  off 
in  an  opposite  direction. 

"With  a  feeling  of  security  after  hearing  from  Hetty  of 
Maude  De  Yere,  Tom  came  out  from  his  hiding-place 
and  ventured  to  the  open  door  of  the  cabin,  where  he 
stood  looking  at  the  "  big  house  "  on  the  hill,  from  which 
the  guests  were  just  departing.  He  could  hear  their 
voices  as  they  said  good  night,  and  fancied  he  could  de- 
tect the  clear,  well-bred  tones  of  Maude  De  Vere,  in 
whom  he  began  to  feel  so  deeply  interested.  He  could 
see  the  flutter  of  her  white  dress  as  she  stood  against 
a  pillar  of  the  piazza,  with  Ai'thur  at  her  side,  but  her 
back  was  toward  him,  and  he  could  only  see  her  well- 
shaped  head,  which  sat  so  erect  and  proudly  upon  her 
shoulders.  She  was  very  tall,  Tom  thought,  comparing 
her  with  Mary,  Annie,  and  petite  Rose  as  she  walked 
across  the  piazza  with  Arthur,  who,  from  comparison 
seemed  the  shorter  of  the  two.  Profoundly  grateful  to  her 
as  his  probable  deliverer,  Tom  went  back  into  the  cabin 
and  began  to  question  Hetty  with  regard  to  the  young 
lady.  "Who  was  she,  and  where  did  she  live,  and  how 
came  she  so  strong  a  Unionist? 


THE   HEROIN'E   OF  THE   MOUNTAIN.  329 

"  She's  Miss  Maude  De  Yere,  bred  and  born  in  the  old 
North  State,  somewhars  near  Tar  Kun."  Aunt  Hetty  said. 
"Her  father  was  killed  at  first  Bull  Run,  and  then 
her  mother  died,  and  she  went  to  live  with  her  uncle  off 
toward  Tennessee  in  de  hiUs.  She's  got  an  awful  sight 
of  money,  and  heaps  of  niggers, — lazy,  no  count  crit- 
ters,— who  jest  do  nothing  from  mom  tiU  night.  She  and 
Miss  Nettie,  Mars'r  Tunbridge's  gal,  was  great  friends 
at  school,  and  Miss  Maude  was  here  when  she  died,  and 
has  been  here  by  spells  ever  since.  Young  mars'r  think 
she  mighty  nice,  but  dis  chile  don't  'zactly  know  what 
IVIiss  Maude  do  think  of  him.  Eeckon  he's  too  short,  or 
too  s  essionary  to  suit  her." 

This  was  Hetty's  account  of  the  young  lady,  who  at 
that  very  moment  was  listening  with  a  defiant  look  upon 
her  face  to  Arthur  Tunbridge's  remonstrance  against 
what  he  termed  her  treasonable  principles. 

"  They  will  get  you  into  trouble  yet.  The  war  is  not 
over,  as  some  would  have  you  think.  The  North  is 
greatly  divided.  Be  warned  of  me,  Maude,  and  do  not 
run  such  risks  as  you  do  by  openly  avowing  your  Union 
sentiments.  Think  what  it  would  be  to  me  if  harm 
should  befall  you,  Maude." 

Arthur  spoke  very  gently  now,  while  a  deep  flush 
mounted  to  his  beardless  cheek,  but  met  with  no  reflec- 
tion from  Maude  De  Yere's  face.  Only  her  eyes  kindled 
and  grew  blacker,  if  possible,  as  she  listened  to  him, 
first  with  scorn,  when  he  spoke  of  treason,  and  then 
with  pity  when  he  spoke  of  himself,  and  the  pain  it 
would  cause  him  if  harm  should  come  to  her. 

Maude  knew  very  well  the  nature  of  the  feehngs  with 
which  her  kinsman,  young  Arthur  Tunbridge,  regarded 
her.  At  first  she  had  been  disposed  to  laugh  at  him,  and 
his  preference  for  an  Amazon,  as  she  styled  herself;  but  Ar- 


330  ROSE  MATHER 

thui*  had  proved  by  actual  measurement  that  in  point  of 
height  he  excelled  her  by  half  an  inch,  while  the  register 
showed  that  in  point  of  age  he  had  the  advantage  of  her 
by  more  than  four  years,  though  Maude  seemed  the 
elder  of  the  two. 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  Arthur,  nor  entertain  fears  for  me," 
she  said.  "  I  am  not  afraid  of  Gen.  Lee's  entire  army, 
nor  Grant's  either,  for  that  matter.  My  home  at  Uncle 
Paul's  has  been  beset  alternately  by  either  party,  and  I 
have  held  a  loaded  pistol  at  the  heads  of  both  Federal 
and  Confederate,  when  one  was  for  leading  away  Char- 
he's  favorite  horse,  and  the  other  for  coaxing  off  old 
Lois  to  cook  the  company's  rations.  No,  I  am  not 
afi'aid,  and  if  necessary  I  will  guide  that  poor  wretch 
down  in  Hetty's  cabin  safely  to  Tennessee." 

Arthur's  face  grew  dark  at  once,  and  he  said,  half 
angrily: 

"Maude,  let  that  man  alone;  let  them  all  alone.  It  is 
not  womanly  for  you  to  evince  so  much  interest  in  such 
people.  For  your  sake  I'll  help  this  one  get  away,  but 
that  must  be  the  last;  and  remember,  it  is  done  for  your 
sake,  with  the  expectation  of  reward.  Do  you  consent 
to  the  tenns  ?" 

Maude's  nostrils  quivered  as  she  drew  her  tall  figui'e 
to  its  full  height,  and  answered  back : 

"I  could  not  prize  the  love  I  had  to  buy.  No,  Arthur; 
I  have  told  you  once  that  you  are  only  my  brother,  just 
as  Nettie  was  my  sister.  Beheve  me,  Arthui%  I  cannot 
give  you  what  you  ask." 

She  spoke  gently,  kindly,  now,  for  she  pitied  the  young 
man  whose  sincerity  she  did  not  doubt,  but  whose  love 
she  could  not  return.  He  was  not  her  equal,  either 
physically  or  mentally,  and  the  man  who  won  Maude  De 
Vere  must  be  one  to  whom  she  could  look  up  to  as  a 


THE   HEKOINE   OF  THE  MOUNTAIIT.  381 

superior.  Such  an  one  slie  would  make  very  liappy,  but 
she  would  lead  Ai'tliur  a  wretched,  miserable  life,  and  she 
knew  it,  and  would  save  him  from  herself,  even  though 
there  were  many  kindly,  tender  feelings  in  her  heart  for 
the  young  lieutenant. 

She  saw  that  he  was  angry  with  her,  and  as  further 
conversation  was  useless,  she  left  him  and  repaired  to 
her  room,  the  windows  of  which  overlooked  Hetty's  cabin. 

And  there  until  daylight  the  noble  girl  sat  watching 
lest  their  unwelcome  visitors  of  the  previous  night,  fail- 
ing to  find  their  victim,  should  return  and  insist  upon 
another  search.  As  Maude  De  Yere  said,  she  had  held  a 
loaded  pistol  at  the  head  of  both  Federal  and  Confede- 
rate, when  her  uncle  was  sick,  and  the  house  was  beset 
one  week  by  one  of  the  belligerent  parties  and  the  fol- 
lowing week  by  the  other.  She  was  afraid  of  nothing, 
and  Tom  Carleton,  so  long  as  she  stood  his  sentinel,  had 
little  to  fear  from  his  pursuers.  But  she  could  not  ward 
off  the  fever  which  for  many  days  had  been  lurking  in 
his  veins,  and  which  was  increasing  so  fast  that  when 
the  morning  came  he  was  too  sick  to  rise,  and  lay  moan- 
ing with  the  pain  in  his  eyes  and  complaining  of  the 
heat,  which,  in  that  dark  corner  of  the  close  cabin,  and 
on  that  sultry  summer  morning,  was  intolerable. 

"  Mighty  poorly,  with  face  as  red  as  them  flowers  in 
yer  ha'r,  and  the  veins  in  his  forehead  as  big  as  my  leg," 
was  the  word  which  Hetty  brought  up  to  Maude  De 
Yere  the  next  morning,  and  half  an  hour  later  Maude, 
in  her  pale  buff  cambric  wi'apper,  with  her  black  hair 
shining  like  satin,  went  down  to  Hetty's  cabin  and  stood 
beside  Tom  Carleton. 

He  was  sleeping  for  a  few  moments,  and  the  drops  of 
perspiration  were  standing  on  his  forehead  and  about 
his  lips.     He  was  not  worn  and  emaciated,  like  the  most 


332  ROSE  MATHER. 

of  the  prisoners  and  refupfees  whom  Maude  had  seen. 
His  complexion,  though  bronzed  from  exposure,  had  not 
that  peculiar  greyish  appearance  common  to  so  many  of 
the  returned  prisoners,  while  his  forehead  was  very 
white,  and  his  rich  brown  hair,  damp  with  the  perspira- 
tion, clung  about  it  in  the  soft,  round  curls  so  natural  to  it. 

There  was  nothing  in  his  personal  appearance  to  awaken 
sympathy  on  the  score  of  ill-treatment,  and  yet  Maude 
felt  herself  strangely  drawn  toward  him,  guessing  with 
a  woman's  quick  perception  that  he  was  somewhat  above 
many  whom  it  had  been  her  privilege  to  befriend.  And 
Maude,  being  human,  did  not  hke  him  less  for  that.  On 
the  contrary,  she  the  more  readily  brushed  away  the  flies 
which  were  alighting  upon  his  face,  and  with  her  own 
handkerchief,  wiped  the  moistui'e  from  his  brow,  and 
then  felt  his  rapid  pulse. 

"  He  ought  not  to  stay  in  this  place,"  she  said,  and  she 
was  revolving  the  propriety  of  boldly  asking  Squire  Tun- 
bridge  if  he  might  be  removed  to  the  house,  when  Tom 
awoke  and  turned  wonderingly  toward  her. 

He  knew  it  was  Maude  De  Yere,  and  something  in  her 
facp  riveted  his  attention,  making  him  wonder  where  he 
had  seen  somebody  very  like  her. 

"  You  are  sick,"  she  said  to  him  kindly,  as  he  attempted 
to  rise  on  his  elbow,  and  fell  back  again  upon  the  squalid 
bed.  "I  am  afraid  you  are  very  sick,  but  you  ai'e  safe 
here, — that  is, — yes, — I  know  you  are  safe.  None  but 
fiends  would  betray  a  sick  man." 

She  spoke  rapidly,  and  Tom  saw  the  bright  color 
deepen  in  her  cheek,  and  her  eyes  flash  with  excite- 
ment. She  was  very  beautiful,  and  Tom  felt  the  influ- 
ence of  her  beauty,  and  tried  to  draw  the  ragged  quilt 
over  him  so  as  to  hide  the  coarse,  grey  shirt  Hetty  had 
given  him,  and  which  was  as  unlike  the  immaculate  linen 


TEE  HEROINE  OF  THE  MOUNTAIN".       333 

Tom  Carleton  was  accustomed  to  wear  as  it  was  possible 
to  be. 

"  You  are  liliss  De  Yere,  I'm  sure,"  be  said,  "  and  you 
are  very  kind.  I  sball  not  tax  your  bospitality  long.  I 
hope  to  go  on  to-nigbt.  Don't  stay  bere,  Miss  De  Vere; 
you  must  be  uncomfortable.  It's  botter  bere  tban  in 
Massacbusetts." 

"You  are  from  New  England,  tben?"  Maude  asked, 
and  Tom  replied: 

"  From  Boston, — yes, — your  people  bate  us  most  of  all 
I  believe,"  and  Tom  tried  to  smile,  wbile  Maude  answer- 
ed bim, 

"  It  makes  no  difference  to  me  wbetber  you  are  from 
Maine  or  Oregon.  You  are  sick  and  bave  come  to  us  for 
succor.     I'll  do  wbat  I  can  to  belp  you." 

Witb  tbe  last  words  sbe  was  gone,  ber  tall,  Htbe  figure 
bending  gracefully  under  tbe  low  doorway,  and  tbe  rus- 
tle of  ber  fresb,  clean  garments  leaving  a  pleasant  sound 
in  Tom  Carleton*s  ears. 


"  A  sick  Yankee  down  in  Hetty's  cabin, — a  Boston  one 
at  tbat,  witb  bis  Wendell  Pbillips  notions,  and  you  want 
me  to  let  bim  be  broUgbt  up  to  this  house,  tbe  bouse  of  a 
Soutbern  gentleman,  wbo,  if  be  bates  one  of  tbe  dogs 
worse  tban  anotber,  bates  tbe  Massacbusetts  kind,  wbose 
women  bave  notbing  to  do  but  to  write  Abolition  books 
about  our  niggers.  No,  indeed;  be  sball  not  come  an 
incb,  and  by  tbe  Harry  I'll  send  for  tbe  autborities  and 
bave  bim  bundled  off  to  jail  before  nigbt,  witb  bis  camp 
fever,  and  bis  Boston  airs.  Needn't  talk.  See  if  I  don't 
do  it,  and  I'll  bave  Hetty  strung  up  and  wbipped  for  bar- 
boring  tbe  villain.  Treason  under  my  very  nose,  and  a 
Yankee,  too!     Go  away,~go  away,  I  tell  you.     I  won't 


384  BOSE  MATHER. 

hear  you.     I  hate  'em  all  for  the  cussedness  there  is  in 
em. 
This  was  Squire  Tunbridge's  reply  to  Maude  De  Vere, 

who  had  told  him  of  Tom  Carleton,  and  asked  permis- 
sion to  have  him  moved  up  to  the  house.  Nothing 
daimted,  Maude  went  close  up  to  him,  and  her  beautiful 
eyes  looked  straight  into  his  as  she  said  : 

"Think  if  it  was  Arthur  sick  among  his  enemies. 
They  were  kind  to  him,  he  says,  and  remember  Nettie, 
too.  Had  she  Hved  she  would  have  married  a  Northern 
man.  You  liked  Eobert,  and  Nettie  loved  him.  For  her 
sake  let  this  man  be  brought  to  the  house.  He  will  die 
there,  where  it  is  so  close." 

"  Serve  him  right  for  comrag  down  here  to  fight  us  ; 
wish  they  were  all  dead.  How  are  you  going  to  get  the 
rascal  up  that  confounded  hill  ?     Can  he  walk  ?'* 

Maude  had  gained  her  point,  and  with  i\Irs.  Tunbridge, 
who  had  a  soft,  kind  heart,  she  hastened  to  make  ready 
a  large,  airy  chamber,  somewhat  remote  from  the  rooms 
occupied  by  the  family  and  their  frequent  guests.  It  was 
not  the  best  room  in  the  house,  but  he  would  be  safer 
there  than  elsewhere,  and  Maude  made  it  as  inviting  as 
possible,  by  pulling  the  bed  out  from  the  comer  to  the 
centre  of  the  room,  covering  the  plain  stand  with  a  clean, 
white  towel,  and  the  table  with  a  gaily-colored  shawl  of 
her  own.  Then  with  Hetty  and  one  of  Hetty's  sons  she 
started  for  the  cabin,  followed  by  the  Squire  himself. 
Since  the  war  began  he  had  not  seen  a  Yankee,  and  curi- 
osity as  much  as  anythuig  took  him  to  Tom  Carleton, 
whom  he  assailed  with  a  string  of  epithets,  telling  him 
"  to  see  what  he'd  got  by  making  war  on  people  so  much 
better  than  himself.  Good  enough  for  you,"  he  contin- 
ued, as,  assisted  by  Hetty  and  Claib,  Tom  tried  to  walk 
up  the  winding  path,  with  Maude  in  front  and  the  Squire 


THE  HEKOINE    OF    THE   MOUNTAIN-.  835 

in  the  rear.  "Yes,  good  enough  for  you,  if  you  die  hke 
a  dog,  and  I  dare  say  you  will.  Fevers  go  hard  -with  you 
Bunker  Hill  chaps.  Glaib,  you  villain,  you  are  letting 
him  fall.  Don't  you  see  he  hasn't  strength  to  walk  ? 
Carry  him,  you  rascal!"  And  thus  changing  the  nature 
of  his  tirade  the  Squire  thrust  his  cane  against  Tom's 
back  by  way  of  assisting  him  up  the  hill. 

He  was  human  if  he  was  not  quite  consistent,  and  his 
face  was  very  red,  and  he  was  very  much  out  of  breath 
when  the  house  was  reached  at  last,  and  Tom  was  com- 
fortably disposed  in  bed. 

"For  thimder's  sake,  Hetty,  take  that  grey,  niggery 
thing  off  from  him,"  the  Squire  said,  pointing  to  the 
coarse  shirt  Tom  had  thought  so  nice,  when  he  exchanged 
it  for  his  dirty  uniform.  "  If  you  women  are  going  to 
do  a  thing,  do  it  decent.  Arthur's  shirts  won't  fit  him, 
I  reckon,  for  Arthur  ain't  bigger  than  a  pint  of  cider, 
but  mine  will.  Fetch  him  one,  and  for  gi'acious  sake 
souse  him  first  in  the  bath-tub.  He  needs  it  ,bad,  for 
them  prison  pens  ain't  none  the  neatest  according  to  the 
tell." 

In  spite  of  his  aversion  to  the  Boston  Yankees,  the 
Judge. had  taken  the  ordering  of  this  one  into  his  own 
hands,  and  it  was  to  him  that  Tom  owed  the  refreshing 
bath  which  did  him  so  much  good,  and  abated  the  force 
of  the  fever,  which  nevertheless  ran  high  for  many  days, 
during  which  time  Maude  nui'sed  him  as  carefully  as  if 
he  had  been  her  brother.  Arthur  was  absent  when  the 
moving  occui-red,  but  when  he  found  that  it  was  done, 
and  the  Yankee  was  actually  an  inmate  of  his  father's 
house,  he  concluded  to  make  the  best  of  it,  merely  re- 
marking that  "  they  would  be  in  a  pretty  mess  if  the 
story  got  out  of  their  harboring  a  prisoner." 

The  Judge  knew  that,  and  in  fancy  he  saw  his  house 


ROSE   MATHER. 

burned  down,  and  himself,  perhaps,  ridden  on  a  rail  by 
his  justly  incensed  neighbors.  The  fear  wore  upon  him 
tembly,  until  a  new  idea  occurred  to  him.  Maude,  as 
everj^body  knew,  had  long  been  talking  of  going  back  to 
Tennessee,  and  what  more  natural  than  for  Paul  Haver- 
ill  to  send  an  escort  for  her  in  the  person  of  some 
cousin  or  other,  who  was  foolish  enough  to  fall  sick  im- 
mediately after  his  arrival.  This  was  a  smart  thought  ; 
and  as  that  very  day  at  least  a  dozen  people  called  at  the 
Cedars,  as  the  Judge  called  his  place,  so  the  dozen  were 
told  of  "John  Cam]D,"  sick  abed  up  stairs,  "kind  of 
cousin  to  Maude,  and  sent  to  see  her  home,  by  her  Uncle 
Paul." 

"  Right  smart  chap,"  the  Judge  said,  feeling  amazed  at 
the  facility  with  which  he  invented  falsehoods  when  once 
he  began.  "Been  a  gueiTilla  there  in  the  mountains,  and 
done  some  tall  fightin',  I  reckon." 

This  was  the  Judge's  story,  which  his  auditors  be- 
lieved, wondering,  some  of  them,  why  the  visitor  should 
occupy  that  back  chamber  in  preference  to  the  hand- 
some rooms  in  front.  Still  they  had  no  suspicion  of  the 
truth.  "John  Camp"  was  accepted  as  a  reahty,  and 
kind  inquiries  were  made  after  his  welfare,  as,  day  after 
day,  the  fever  ran  its  course,  and  Maude  De  Vere  bent 
over  him,  bathing  his  forehead,  smoothing  his  pillows, 
and  brushing  his  hair,  her  white  fingers  insinuating  queer 
fancies  into  his  brain,  as,  half  unconscious,  he  felt  their 
touch  upon  his  face,  and  saw  the  soft  eyes  above  him. 

At  first  Arthur  had  kept  aloof  fi'om  Tom,  but  as  the 
latter  grew  better,  he  yielded  to  Maude's  entreaties  and 
went  in  to  see  him,  feeling  intuitively  that  he  was  in  the 
presence  of  a  gentleman  as  well  as  of  a  superior.  He 
could  not  dislike  him,  for  there  was  something  about  Tom 
Carleton  which  disarmed  him  of  all  prejudice,  and  many 


ARTHUK   AND    MAUDE.  337 

a  quiet,  friendly  talk  the  two  had  together  on  the  all- 
absorbing  topic  of  the  day. 

"  He  is  a  splendid  fellow,  if  he  is  a  Yankee,"  was  Ar- 
thur's mental  verdict,  "and  fine-looking,  too, — finer  a 
hundred  times  than  I,"  and  then  there  crept  into  his 
heart  a  fear  lest  Maude  should  think  as  he  did,  and  ere 
he  was  aware  of  it,  he  found  himself  fiercely  jealous  of 
one  who  was  at  his  mercy,  and  whom,  if  he  chose,  he 
might  have  removed  so  easily. 


CHAPTEE  XXX. 

ARTHDB     AND      MAUDE 


1^/- 


I  6m  CAELETON  was  able  to  start  on  his  journey 
^  westward.  Twice  he  had  left  his  room  and 
Wj^  joined  the  family  below,  making  himseK  so 
agreeable,  and  adapting  himself  so  nicely  to  aU  the 
Judge's  crotchets  that  the  old  man  confessed  to  a  genu- 
ine liking  for  the  Yankee  rascal^  and  expressed  himself  as 
unwiUing  to  part  with  him.  He  had  inquired  into  his 
family  history,  and,  to  his  infinite  delight,  found  that  the 
elder  Carleton,  Tom's  father,  was  the  very  lawyer  whose 
speech  years  ago,  had  been  instrumental  in  sending  back 
to  bondage  the  Judge's  runaway  negro,  Hetty's  husband, 
whose  grave  was  out  by  the  garden  wall,  and  whose  wife 
and  sons  had  rendered  so  different  a  service  to  the  law- 
yer's son. 

Tom's  face  was  scarlet  when  he  thought  of  the  differ- 
ence, and  remembered  how  his  father  had  worked  to 
prove  that  the  master  was  entitled  to  his  property  wher- 

15 


338  ROSE  MATHER. 

ever  it  was  found.  The  Judge  suspected  the  nature  of 
his  thoughts,  and  -with  a  forced  laugh,  said,  good- 
hum  ore  dly: 

"You  are  more  of .  an  abolitionist  than  your  father 
was,  I  see.  Well,  well,  young  man,  times  change,  and 
we  change  with  them.  Old  man  Carleton  did  me  a  good 
turn,  for  Seth  was  worth  two  thousand  dollars.  I  never 
abused  him,  nor  gave  him  a  blow  when  I  got  him  back, 
I  only  asked  him  how  he  liked  freedom  as  far  as  he  had 
gone,  and  he  didn't  answer.  He  seemed  broke  down 
hke,  and  in  less  than  a  year  he  died.  He  was  the  best 
hand  I  ever  had,  more'n  half  white.  I  cried  when  he 
died.  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  didn't.  I  told  him  to  live 
and  I'd  set  him  free,  and  when  I  see  how  his  eyes 
lighted  up  I  made  out  his  papers  on  the  spot,  and 
brought  'em  to  him,  and  he  died  with  'em  in  his  hand, 
held  so  tight  we  could  scarcely  get  'em  out,  and  I  had 
'em  buiied  with  him  in  his  coffin. 

"  '  Thank  you,  mars'r,  God  bless  you  for  letting  me  die 
free,  but  it's  come  too  late.  I  would  worked  for  you, 
mars'r,  all  the  same,  if  you'd  done  this  before.  I  wanted 
to  be  a  man,  and  not  a  ihiiig,  a  brute.  You  have  been  kind 
to  me  mars'r;  thank  you,  thank  you  for  liberty.' 

"  These  are  Seth's  very  words.  I  got  'em  by  heart, 
and  I  said  them  so  much  that  I  began  to  wonder  if  free- 
dom wasn't  better  than  slavery.  But,  bless  you,  my 
niggers  was  about  all  I  had.  I  couldn't  give  'em  up, 
though  I  used  to  go  out  to  Seth's  grave  and  think  how 
he  hugged  the  papers  to  the  last,  and  wonder  if  the 
clause  '  all  men  are  born  free  and  equal,'  didn't  mean  the 
blacks.  But  the  pesky  war  broke  out,  and  drove  all  this 
from  my  head.  I  hate  the  Yankees, — I  hate  Lincoln.  I 
hate  the  whole  Union  army,  though  I'll  be  blamed  if  I 
can  hate  you.     Got  a  wife,  hey  ?" 


ARTHUR  AND  MAUDE.  339 

He  turued  abruptly  to  his  guest,  who  had  listened  with 
so  breathless  interest  to  the  story  of  poor  Seth,  that  he  did 
not  see  Maude  De  Vere,  her  eyes  shining,  and  her  cheeks 
flushed,  as  if  she  were  under  some  strong  excitement. 

Between  herself  and  Arthur  there  had  been  a  long 
conyersation  concerning  Captain  Tom  Carleton,  and 
other  matters  of  gi'eater  interest  to  Maude.  The  "  John 
Camp  "  ruse  had  succeeded  well,  and  Maude  had  a  fancy 
for  making  it  do  still  more,  by  taking  her  patient  in 
safety  as  far  as  her  Uncle  Haverill's.  She  had  received 
several  letters  from  her  uncle,  urging  her  to  come  home, 
and  in  a  week  at  most  she  was  going.  As  one  who  had 
been  expressly  sent  as  her  escort,  Mr.  Carleton  would  of 
course  go  with  her,  and  in  order  to  make  the  journey 
with  perfect  safety  she  would  have  Arthur  go  too,  and  it 
was  of  this  that  she  had  spoken  to  him  that  morning 
when  she  found  him  in  a  Httle  summer-house  at  the  rear 
of  the  long  garden.  There  was  a  dark  shadow  on  Ar- 
thur's face,  as  he  hstened  to  Maude's  proposition,  and 
when  she  had  finished  speaking,  he  repHed: 

*^I  intend  to  go  with  you,  provided  I  am  not  ordeied 
back  to  the  army,  but,  Maude,  I  will  not  have  that  Yan- 
kee soldier  hanging  on  to  us.  We  have  done  that  for 
him  which  imperils  our  lives,  and  now  that  he  is  able  to 
go  on,  let  him  take  his  chance  alone.  If  he  is  one  half 
as  keen  as  Yankees  think  themselves  to  be,  he  will  get 
through  unharmed.     No,  I  won't  have  him  in  our  way." 

"But  think  of  the  dangers  to  be  encountered,  the 
hordes  of  guerrillas  which  infest  the  mountains,"  Maude 
pleaded,  and  in  her  earnestness  she  laid  both  her  hands 
on  Arthur's  shoulder,  and  stood  leaning  over  him. 

"  Maude  De  Yere,"  and  Arthur  spoke  very  decidedly, 
"  why  are  you  so  much  interested  in  this  man  ?  TeD  me, 
and  tell   me  truly,  too, — have    you  learned  to  cai^  for 


840  BOSE  MATHER. 

him  more  than  you  would  for  a  common  soldier,  had  such 
a  one  come  to  you  as  a  runaway  Yankee  ?  If  you  have, 
Maude,"  and  Arthur's  face  was  white  with  detenmna- 
tion,  "  if  you  have,  by  the  heavens  above  us,  I'll  put  a 
buUet  through  him  myself,  or  worse  than  that,  send  him 
back  to  where  he  came  from." 

"  That  would  be  an  act  worthy  of  a  Tunbridge  and  a 
Southern  gentleman,"  Maude  said,  bitterly,  and  some- 
thing in  her  tone  warned  Arthur  that  he  had  gone  too 
far,  so  changing  his  tactics,  he  said  more  gently: 

"  Sit  here  beside  me,  Maude,  and  Hsten  to  what  I  have 
to  say.  You  know  that  I  have  loved  you  ever  since  I 
knew  the  meaning  of  the  word,  and  it  is  not  in  my  nature 
to  give  up  what  my  heart  is  set  upon.  You  havQ 
refused  me,  but  that  does  not  matter.  I  want  you 
for  my  wife  ;  I  must  have  you  for  my  wife.  I  ^know 
you  are  my  superior,  and  I  am  willing  it  should  be 
so.  You  can  fashion  me  into  anything  you  like.  I 
have  screened,  and  hidden,  and  lied  for  that  Yankee 
Carleton,  just  to  gratify  you.  And  when  I  first  con- 
sented to  act  the  traitor's  part,  I  supposed  he  was  m5st 
likely  some  coarse,  ignorant  boor,  but  he  is  not.  Re- 
turning health  shows  him  to  be  a  weU-bred  gentleman, 
and  decidedly  good-looking,  so  much  so  that  I  have 
been  jealous  of  him,  Maude,  not  knowing  to  what  your 
strange  opinions  might  lead  you." 

"  You  know  of  course  he  has  a  wife,"  dropped  scorn- 
fully from  Maude's  lips,  and  Arthur  started  quickly. 

"No,  Maude,  I  did  not  know  it.  How  came  you  by 
the  knowledge  ?     Did  he  tell  you  so  ?*' 

**'Not  directly,  but  when  he  was  out  of  his  head,  or 
asleep,  he  talked  cf  Rose,  and  Annie,  and  Mary,  and  he 
called  the  latter  his  wife.  That  is  the  way  I  know," 
Maude  said,  and  Arthur's  face  cleared  at  once. 

"  Forgive  me,  Maude.     I  was  a  fool  to  be  jealous  of 


AETHUR  AISTD  MAUDE. 


841 


him.  And  now  let  ns  come  to  a  final  understanding. 
You  have  laughed  at,  and  browbeaten,  and  queened  it 
over  me  for  years,  but  I  have  never  despaired  of  winning 
you  at  the  last.  Once  for  all,  then,  will  you  be  my  wife  ? 
I  must  have  you.     I  cannot  be  denied." 

Arthur  was  in  earnest  now,  and  his  pleadings  were 
eloquent  with  the  love  he  felt  for  the  girl,  who  listened 
in  silence,  and  then  said  to  him  : 

«  Ai'thui',  it  cannot  be.  I  should  make  you  very  un- 
happy.    We  do  not  agree  in  any  one  point." 

"But  we  wiU  agTee.  I  promise  to  conform  to  your 
opinions  in  everything.  I'll  guide  this  man  to  Tennes- 
see, and  give  myself  in  future  to  the  work  of  saving  and 
helpino-  the  entire  Yankee  army.  I'll  be  a  second  Dan 
miis  iijon  hke.  I'll  do  anything  but  take  the  oath  to 
the  Union.  I've  sworn  to  stand  by  the  otlier  side.  I 
cannot  break  my  word  even  for  you,  Maude." 

Maude  did  not  Hke  him  less  for  that  last.  There  was 
Southern  fire  in  her  heart  as  weU  as  his,  and  Southern 
blood  in  her  veins,  and  though  she  clung  to  the  old  Hag, 
there  were  moments  when  she  felt  a  flush  of  pride  m  her 
misguided  brothers,  who  fought  so  like  heroes  and  be- 
lieved so  heartily  in  their  cause. 

"Sav,  Maude,"  Arthur  continued,  -will  you  be  my 
wife  ii  I  will  do  an  this.  Think  how  many  hves  I  might 
save,  and  how  much  suffering  reUeve;  there  are  so  many 
chances  where  I  could  do  good,  for  no  one  would  sus- 
pect 7ne.     Give  me  some  hope,  Maude.     Speak  to  me. 

She  was  sitting  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  as 
many  another  maiden  has  sat,  "  counting  the  cost.  Ail 
hev  life  long,  Arthur  Tunbridge  had  followed  hei>  with 
his  love  till  she  was  tired  of  the  contest.  :Nothing  she 
had  ever  said  disheartened  him.  No  rebuff,  however 
severe,  had  availed  to  keep  him   quiet.     She  knew  he 


342  ROSE  MATHER. 

loved  her,  and  perhaps  she  might  in  time  love  him.  It 
would  make  the  old  Judge  and  his  wife  so  happy,  while 
Charlie  lik^d  Ai-thur  so  much.  Other  people  liked  him, 
too.  He  was  very  popular,  and  she  well  knew  that  she 
was  envied  by  many  a  proud  maiden  for  the  attentions 
of  the  agreeable  Lieut.  Tunbridge.  Besides,  if  Arthur 
pledged  himself  to  help  the  escape  of  prisoners,  he  would 
keep  his  word,  and  so  through  her  much  good  might  be 
done,  and  hearts  made  haj^py  perhaps.  Others  had 
willingly  sacrificed  their  hves  for  their  country,  and  why 
should  she  shrink  from  sacrificing  her  happiness,  if  by 
it  so  many  lives  could  be  saved  ?  Was  it  not  her  duty 
to  cast  self  aside  and  think  only  of  the  suffering  she 
could  reheve  with  Arthur  as  her  ally.  Maude  was  selling 
herself  for  her  country,  and  with  one  great  throb  of  bit- 
ter paiQ,  she  said  at  last  : 

"I  will  deal  frankly  with  you,  Arthur,  as  I  always 
have.  You  are  not  disagreeable  to  me.  I  like  you  very 
much  as  a  friend.  I  miss  you  when  you  are  away,  and 
am  glad  when  you  come  back  ;  still,  you  are  not  just 
what  I  have  imagined  my  future  husband  to  be.  I  like  you 
for  the  good  I  know  there  is  in  you,  and  I  may  learn  to 
love  you.  I  shall  lead  you  a  horrid  hfe  if  I  do  not,  for 
it  is  not  in  my  natui'e  to  affect  what  I  do  not  feel.  If  I 
cannot  love  you,  I  shall  learn  to  hate  you,  and  that  will 
be  terrible." 

She  was  looking  at  him  now,  and  though  he  winced  a 
little  beneath  the  blazing  eyes,  she  looked  so  grand, 
so  beautiful,  that,  fooHsh  youth  as  he  was,  he  fancied 
her  hate  would  be  preferable  to  losing  her,  and  so  he 
said: 

"  Go  on,  Maude,  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  hatred  if  you  al- 
ways look  as  you  do  now." 


IIAUDE  AND  TOM.  843 

Something  like  contempt  leaped  to  her  eyes  then,  but 
she  put  it  aside,  and  continued: 

"  I  will  promise  only  on  conditions.  You  shall  see  this 
]VIr.  Carleton  safely  to  my  Uncle  Paul's.  You  shall  be- 
friend and  help  every  runaway  you  chance  to  find.  You 
shall  relieve  every  suffering  Union  soldier  when  an  o-p- 
portunity  occurs.  You  shall  use  youi*  influence  for  the 
prisoners,  and  seek  to  ameliorate  their  wretched  condition. 
If  you  do  this,  Arthur,  and  do  it  faithfully,  when  the 
war  is  over  I  will  try  to  answer  yes.     Are  you  satisfied  ?" 

It  was  a  very  one-sided  affair,  and  Arthur  knew  it;  but 
love  for  Maude  De  Vere  was  the  strongest  passion  of 
which  he  was  capable,  and  he  answered: 

"  I  am  satisfied,"  and  kissed  the  cold  har^""  which 
Maude  placed  in  his,  and  thought  what  a  regal  creature 
he  had  won,  and  thought,  too,  how  implicitly  he  would 
keep  the  contract,  even  if  it  involved  a  giving  up  of  Jef- 
ferson Davis  himself  into  the  enemy's  hands. 


CHAPTEE  XXXI. 

MAUDE      AND      TOM. 


!  X  T  was  then  that  Maude  left  him  and  went  back 
^\'^  to  the  house,  where,  standing  in  the  door,  she 
"^S^X^I  scanned  the  face  and  person  of  the  man  for 
whose  safely  in  part  she  had  pledged  her  heart  and  hand. 

Tom's  tout  ensemble  was  good,  and  there  was  about  him 
a  certain  air  of  grace  and  culture  which  showed  itself  in 
every  movement.  A  stranger  would  have  trusted  him 
in  a  moment,  and  recognized  the  true  manhood  in  his 
expressive  face.     And  Maude  recognized  it,  as  she  never 


844  EOSE   MATHER. 

had  before,  and  tlie  contrast  between  bim  and  Arthui 
struck  her  plainfully. 

"  If  Arthur  were  more  hke  him,  I  could  love  him  bet- 
ter," she  thought,  just  as  the  Judge  asked  the  abrupt 
question : 

"  You  have  a  wife,  hey  ?" 

"  Of  course  he  has,"  Maude  thought,  and  still  she  lis- 
tened for  the  answer. 

"  My  wife  died  some  years  ago,  before  the  war  broke 
out.  She  was  a  Mary  Williams,  a  near  relative  of  the 
Williamses  of  Charleston.     Perhaps  you  know  them  ?" 

"  Know  'em !  I'll  bet  I  do  ! — the  finest  familj^  in  the 
State.  And  you  married  one  of  them?"  the  old  Judge 
said,  his  manner  indicating  an  increased  respect  for  the 
man  who  had  married  a  Wilhams  of  Charleston. 

Maude  knew  the  family,  too,  or  rather  knew  of  them, 
and  remembered  how,  some  years  before,  when  she  was 
at  St.  Mary's,  she  had  heard  a  Charleston  young  lady 
speaking  of  a  Mrs.  Carleton  fi'om  Boston,  who  had  re- 
cently died,  and  whose  husband  had  been  so  kind  and 
patient  and  tender,  and  was  "  the  most  perfectly  splendid 
looking  man  she  ever  saw." 

Maude  remembered  this  last  distinctly,  because  it  had 
called  forth  a  reproof  from  the  teacher  who  had  overheard 
it,  and  who  asked  what  kind  of  a  man  "  the  most  perfectly 
splendid-looking  "  one  could  be.  Maude  had  not  thought 
of  that  incident  in  years,  but  it  came  back  to  her  now  as 
she  stood  close  to  the  man  who  had  been  so  kind  and 
tender  to  his  sick,  dying  wife.  He  would  be  all  that,  she 
knew,  for  his  manner  was  so  quiet  and  gi'ave  and  gentle, 
and  then  a  great  throb  of  pain  swept  over  Maude  De 
Vere  as  she  thought  of  Arthur  and  the  pledge  she  had 
given  him.  Maude  could  not  analyze  her  feelings,  or  un- 
derstand why  the  knowing  who  Tom  Carleton  was,  and 


MAUDE  AND  TOM.  845 

tliat  lie  was  also  free,  should  make  the  world  so  desolate 
all  on  a  sudden,  and  blot  out  the  brightness  of  the  sum- 
mer day  which  had  seemed  so  pleasant  at  its  beginning. 

"  I  did  it  in  part  for  him,"  she  said,  feehng  that  in 
spite  of  her  pain  there  was  something  sweet  even  in  such 
a  sacrifice. 

She  was  still  standing  in  the  door,  when  Tom,  turning 
a  httle  more  toward  his  host,  saw  her,  his  face  hghting  up 
at  once,  and  the  smile,  which  mtde  him  so  handsome, 
breaking  out  about  his  mouth  and  showing  his  fine 
teeth. 

"  Ah,  Miss  De  Yere,  take  this  seat,'*  and  with  that  weU- 
bred  poHteness  so  much  a  part  of  his  family,  he  arose  and 
offered  her  his  chair. 

But  Maude  dechned  it,  and  took  a  seat  instead  upon  a 
little  camp  stool  near  to  the  vine-wreathed  columns  of 
the  piazza. 

It  was  veiy  pleasant  there  that  morning,  and  Maude, 
sitting  against  that  back-gi"ound  of  green  leaves,  made  a 
very  pretty  picture  in  her  pink  cambric  wrapper,  trimmed 
with  white,  white  pendants  in  her  ears,  and  a  bunch  of 
the  sweet  scented  hehotrope  in  her  hair,  and  at  her  throat 
where  the  smooth  linen  collar  came  together.  And  Tom ' 
enjoyed  the  picture  very  much,  from  the  crown  of  satin 
hair,  to  the  high-heeled  shpper,  with  its  bright  ribbon  ro- 
sette. It  was  not  a  httle  shpper,  hke  those  which  used 
to  be  in  Tom's  di-essing-room  in  Boston,  when  Mary  was 
ahve,  nor  yet  hke  the  fairy  things  which  Eose  Mather 
wore.  Nothing  about  Maude  De  Vere  was  small,  but 
ever3i:hing  was  admirably  proportioned.  She  wore  a 
seven  glove  and  she  wore  a,  four  boot.  She  measured  just 
twenty-five  inches  around  the  waist,  and  five  feet  six  fi'om 
her  head  to  her  feet,  and  weighed  one  hundred  and  forty. 
A  perfect  Amazon,  she  called  herself;  but  Tom  Carleton 


346  ROSE  MATHER. 

did  not  think  so.  He  knew  slio  was  a  large  type  oi 
womanhood,  but  she  was  perfect  in  form  and  feature, 
and  he  would  not  have  had  her  one  whit  smaller  than  she 
was,  neither  did  he  contrast  her  with  any  one  he  had 
ever  known.  She  was  so  wholly  unlike  Mary  and  Rose 
and  Annie,  that  comparison  between  them  was  impos- 
sible. She  was  Miss  De  Vere, — Maude  he  called  her  to 
himself,  and  the  name  was  beginning  to  sound  sweetly 
to  him,  as  he  daily  gi%w  more  and  more  intimate  with 
the  queenly  creature  who  bore  it.  He  had  buried  his 
pale,  proud-faced,  but  loving  Mary;  he  had  given  up  the 
gentle  Annie,  and  surely  he  might  think  of  Maude  De 
Yere  if  he  chose;  and  the  sight  of  her  sitting  there  before 
him  with  the  rich  color  in  her  cheek,  and  the  Southern 
fire  in  her  eyes,  stirred  strange  feehngs  in  his  heart,  and 
made  him  so  forgetful  of  what  the  Judge  was  saying  to 
him,  that  the  old  man  at  last  rose  and  walked  away, 
leaving  the  two  young  people  alone  together.  Tom  had 
never  talked  much  to  Maude  except  upon  sick-room  topics, 
and  he  felt  anxious  to  know  if  her  mind  corresponded 
with  her  face  and  form.  Here  was  a  good  opportunity  for 
testing  her  meiltal  powers,  and  in  the  long,  earnest  conver- 
sation which  ensued  concerning  men,  and  books,  and  poli- 
tics, Tom  sifted  her  thoroughly,  experiencing  that  pleasure 
which  men  of  cultivation  always  experience  when  thrown 
in  contact  with  a  woman  whose  intelligence  and  endow- 
ments are  equal  to  their  own.  Maude's  education  had 
nqt  been  a  superficial  one,  nor  had  it  ceased  with  her 
leaving  school.  In  her  room  at  home  there  was  a  small 
library  of  choice  books,  which  she  read  and  studied  each 
day  together  with  her  brother  Charlie,  whose  education 
she  superintended.  Few  persons  North  or  South  were 
better  acquainted  with  the  incidents  and  progress  of  the 
war,  than  she  was.    She  had  watched  it  from  its  beginning, 


MAUDE   AND  TOM.  347 

and  with  lier  father,  from  whom  she  had  inherited  her 
superior  mind,  she  had  held  many  earnest  argnmentative 
discussions  concerning  the  right  and  wrong  of  secession. 
Maade  had  opposed  it  from  the  first,  but  her  father  had 
thought  differently,  and 'carrying  out  his  principles,  had 
lost  his  life  in  the  fii'st  battle  of  BuU  Run.  Maude  spoke 
of  him  to  Tom,  and  her  fine  eyes  were  full  of  tears  as  she 
told  of  the  dark,  terrible  days  which  preceded  and  fol- 
lowed the  news  of  his  death. 

"  The  ball  which  struck  him  down  went  further  than 
that;  it  killed  mother,  too,  and  made  us  orphans,"  Maude 
said,  and  something  in  the  tone  of  her  voice,  and  the  ex- 
pression of  her  face,  puzzled  Tom  just  as  it  had  many 
times  before,  and  carried  him  back  to  Bull  Eun,  where  it 
seemed  to  him  he  had  seen  a  face  like  Maude  De  Vere's. 
"Was  your  father  killed  in  battle?"  Tom  asked,  and 
Maude  replied: 

"No,  sir;  that  is,  he  did  not  die  on  the  battle-field. 
He  was  wDunded,  and   crawled    away  into   the    woods, 
where  they  found  him  dead,  sitting  against  a  tree,  with  a 
httle  Union  drummer-boy  lying  right  beside  him,  and 
father's   handkerchief  bound  round    the  poor  bleeding 
stumps,  for  the  little  hands  were  both  shot  away.     I've 
thought  of  that  boy  so  often,"  Maude  said,  "  and  cried  for 
him  so  much.    I  know  father  was  kind  to  him,  for  the  little 
fellow  was  nestled  close  to  him,  Arthur  said.     He  was 
there,  and  found  my  father,  though  he  did  not  at  first 
recognize  him,  as  it  was  a  number  of  years  since  he  had 
seen  him." 

Tom  was  growing  both  interested   and  excited.      He 

was  beginning  to  find  the  key  to  that  famihar  look  in 

Maude  De  Yere's  face,  and,  coming  close  to  her  he  said: 

"Were  any  prisoners  taken  near  youi'  father,  Miss  De 

Vere  ?     Union  prisoners,  I  mean  ?" 

"Yes,"  Maude  replied.     Arthur  was  a  private,  then, 


348  ROSE  MATHER 

and,  with  another  soldier,  was  prowling  through  the  woods 
when  they  came  upon  father,  and  two  Union  soldiers 
near  him, — one  a  boy,  Arthur  said,  and  one  an  officer, 
whose  ankle  had  been  sprained.  In  their  eagerness  to  cap- 
ture somebody  they  forgot  my  father,  and  carried  off  the 
man  and  boy.  Then  they  went  back,  and  Ai'thur  found, 
by  some  papers  in  the  dead  soldier's  pocket,  that  it.  was 
father,  and  he  had  him  decently  buried  at  Manassas,* with 
the  httle  boy.  I  hked  Ai^thur  for  that.  I  would  never 
have  forgiven  him  if  he  left  that  child  in  the  woods. 
When  the  war  is  over,  I  am  going  to  find  the  graves." 

She  was  not  weeping  now,  but  her  eyes  had  in  them  a 
strange  glitter  as  they  looked  far  off  in  the  distance,  as  if 
in  quest  of  those  two  graves. 

"Maude  De  Vere,"  Tom  Carleton  said,  and  at  the 
sound,  Maude  started  and  blushed  scarlet,  "  you  must 
forgive  me  if  I  call  you  Maude  this  once.  It's  for  the 
sake  of  your  noble  father,  by  whose  side  /  stood  when 
the  spirit  left  his  body,  and  went  after  that  of  the  httle 
drummer-boy,  whose  bleeding  stumps  were  bound  in 
your  father's  handkerchief.  I  remember  it  weU.  I  had 
sprained  my  ankle,  and,  with  a  lad  of  my  company 
was  trying  to  escape,  when  I  heard  the  sound  of  some 
one  singing  that  glorious  chant  of  our  church,  '  Peace  on 
earth,  good  will  toward  men.'  It  sounded  strangely 
there,  amid  the  dead  and  dying,  who  had  killed  each 
other;  but  there  was  peace  between  the  Confederate  captain 
and  the  Federal  bov,  as  they  sang  the  famihar  words.  As 
well  as  we  could,  we  cared  for  him.  I  wiped  the  blood 
from  your  father's  wound,  and  the  boy  brought  him  water 
from  the  brook,  while  he  talked  of  his  home  in  North 
Carolina;  of  his  children  who  would  never  see  him  again; 
and  of  NelHe,  his  wife.  It  comes  back  to  me  with  per- 
fect distinctness,  and  it  is  your  father's  look  in  your  eyes 


MAUDE   AND   TOM.  349 

and  face  whicli  lias  puzzled  me  so  much.  Two  soldiers 
wearing  the  Southren  grey  came  up  and  captured  us, 
and  we  were  taken  to  Eichmond.  Surely,  IVIiss  De  Yere, 
it  is  a  special  providence  which  has  brought  me  at  last 
to  you,  the  daughter  of  that  man,  and  made  you  the 
guardian  angel,  who  has  stood  between  me  and  recaptui'e. 
There  is  a  meaning  in  it,  if  we  could  only  find  it." 

Tom's  fine  eyes  were  bent  upon  Maude,  and  in  his  ex- 
citement he  had  grasped  her  hand,  which  did  not  lie  as 
cold  and  pulseless  in  his  as  an  hour  before  it  had  lain 
in  Arthur's.  It  throbbed  and  quivered  now,  but  clung  to 
Tom*s  with  a  firm  hold,  which  was  not  relaxed  even  when 
Ai'thur  came  up,  his  face  growing  dark  and  threatening 
as  he  saw  the  position  of  the  two. 

Maude  did  not  care  for  Arthur  then,  or  think  what 
that  look  in  Tom's  kindhng  eyes  might  mean.  She  only 
remembered  that  the  man  whose  hand  held  hers  so  firmly, 
had  ministered  to  her  dying  father,  had  held  the  cup  of 
water  to  his  parched  lip,  had  wiped  the  flowing  blood 
from  his  face,  and  spoken  to  him  kindly  words  of  sym- 
pathy. 

Here  was  the  answer  to  her  prayer,  that  God  would 
send  her  somebody  who  could  teU  her  of  her  father's  last 
minutes.  The  somebody  had  come,  and,  in  her  gratitude 
to  him,  she  could  almost  have  knelt  and  worshiped  him. 

"Oh,  Arthur  !"  she  cried,  " Captain  Carleton  is  the  very 
man  you  and  Joe  Newell  captured  at  Bull  Run.  He  was 
with  father  when  he  died;  he  took  care  of  him,  and  was 
so  kind  until  you  came  and  took  him." 

And  Maude's  eyes  flashed  with  anything  but  affection 
upon  her  lover,  who  for  a  moment  could  not  speak  for 
his  surprise. 

Curiously  he  looked  at  Tom,  seeking  for  something  on 
which  to  fasten   a  doubt,  for  he  did  not  wish   Maudo 


350  KOSE  MATHEH. 

to  have  a  cause  for  gratitude  to  the  Northeru  officer 
But  the  longer  he  gazed  the  less  he  doubted.  The  face 
of  the  lame  officer  in  the  Virginia  woods  came  up  distinct- 
ly before  him,  and  was  too  much  like  the  face  confront- 
ing him  to  admit  of  a  mistake,  especially  after  Maude  re- 
peated the  substance  of  what  she  had  heard  from  Captain 
Carleton.  Arthur  was  convinced,  and  as  Maude  dropped 
Tom's  hand,  he  took  it  in  his,  and  said: 

"  It  is  very  strange  that  my  first  prize,  over  whose  cap- 
ture I  felt  so  proud,  should  fall  again  into  my  power. 
But  this  time  you  are  safe,  I  reckon.  I  am  older  than  I 
was  three  years  ago,  and  not  quite  so  thirsty  for  a  Yan- 
kee's blood.  You  did  Maude's  father  good  service,  it 
seems,  and  to  jDrove  that  we  rebels  can  be  grateful  and 
generous  even  to  our  foes,  I  will  take  you  under  my  pro- 
tection as  one  of  my  party,  when  I  escort  Maude  home  to 
Tennessee,  as  I  intend  doing  in  a  few  days." 

Maude's  face  was  white  with  passion  as  she  listened  to 
this  patronizing  speech,  which  had  in  it  so  much  of  as- 
sumed superiority  over  the  man  who  smiled  a  very  pecu- 
liar kind  of  smile,  as  he  bowed  his  acknowledgment  of 
Arthur's  kind  attentions.  Not  a  hint  was  there  that 
Maude  was  head  and  front  of  the  arrangement, — that  for 
Tom's  sake  she  had  pledged  herself  to  one  whose  infe- 
riority never  struck  her  so  painfully  as  now,  when  she 
saw  him  side  by  side  with  Captain  Carleton.  Arthur  did 
not  care  to  have  Captain  Carleton  know  how  much  he 
was  indebted  to  Maude  for  his  present  pleasant  quarters, 
and  his  prospect  of  a  safe  transfer  to  the  hills  of  Tennes- 
see. But  Tom,  though  never  suspecting  the  whole  truth, 
did  know  that  his  gratitude  for  past  and  present  kind- 
ness received  fi'om  that  Southern  family  was  mainly  due  to 
Maude,  whom  he  admii-ed  more  and  more,  as  the  days 
wore  on,  and  he  learned  to  know  her  intimately.     The 


MAUDE  AND  TOM.  ^^1 

shy  reserve  which  since  his  conyalescence  she  had  mani- 
fested toward  him,  passed  with  the  knowledge  that  he 
had  stood  by  her  dying  father,  and  she  treated  him  as  a 
fi-iend  with  whom  she  had  been  acquainted  aU  her  iile 
Ion-.     Occasionally,  as  something  in  Tom's  manner  made 
her  think  that  but  for  Aiihur  she  might  perhaps  m  tune 
bear  that  relation  toward  him,  which  Mary  Williams  had 
borne  she  felt  a  fierce  throb  of  pain  and  a  sense  of  such 
utter  desolation,  that  she  inyoluntarily  rebelled  agamst 
the  hfe  before  her.     But  Maude  was  a  brave,  sensible  girJ. 
She  had  chosen  her  lot,  she  reasoned,  and  she  would 
abide  by  it,  and  make  Ai'thur  as  happy  as   she    could. 
He  was  fulfilling  his  part  of  the  contract  well,  as  was 
proven  by  the   terror-stricken  creature,  whom  he  ha-i 
found  hiding  on  the  plantation,  and  had  brought   to 
Hetty's  cabi^,  where   he  now  lay  so  weak,  that  it  was 
impossible  to  take  him  along  on  that  journey  to  Tennes- 

see 

"'His  time  will  come  by  and  by,"  Arthur  said,  when 
Maude  expressed  anxiety  for  him.  "  I'U  land  him  sately 
at  your  Uncle  Paul's  some  night  when  you  least  expect  it. 
My  business  now  is  with  you  and  your  Yankee  captain." 
Maude  had  asked  that  for  the  present  nothing  should 
be  said  with  regard  to  their  engagement.  And  so, 
thouoh  the  Judge  suspected  that  some  definite  arrange- 
ment'had  been  made  between  his  son  and  Maude,  he  did 
not  know  for  certain,  even  when  she  stood  before  him  at- 
tii-ed  for  the  journey. 

The  Judoe  was  sorry  to  part  with  Maude,  and  he  was 
soiiy  to  part  with  Tom.  He  hked  him  because  he  was 
a  gentleman  if  he  icas  a  Yankee,  and  because  his  father 
had  sent  Seth  back,  (poor  Seth,  with  his  fi'ee  papers  m  his 
coffin,)  and  because  he  had  been  kind  to  Maude's  father, 
and  married  Mary  WiUiams,  of  the  Charleston  WilHamsea 


352  ROSE  MATHER. 

and  could  smoke  a  cob-pipe,  and  enjoy  it.  Tliese  were 
the  things  which  recommended  Tom  to  the  old  man,  who 
shook  his  hand  warmly  at  parting,  saying  to  him; 

"I  hate  Northern  dogs  mostly,  but  hanged  if  I  don't 
like  you.  May  you  get  safely  home,  and  if  you  do,  my 
ad-\dce  is  to  stay  there,  and  tell  the  rest  of  'em  to  do 
the  same.  They  can't  whip  us, — no,  by  George,  they 
can't,  even  if  they  have  got  some  advantage.  The  papers 
say  it  was  all  a  strategical  trap,  and  we'd  rather  you'd 
have  the  places  than  not.  You  can't  take  Kichmond, — no, 
sir !  We  will  die  in  the  last  ditch,  every  mother's  son 
of  us;  and  what  is  left  will  set  the  town  on  fire,  and  let 
it  go  to  thimder  !" 

The  old  Judge  was  waxing  very  eloquent  for  a  man 
who  had  one  Union  soldier  recruiting  in  Hetty's  cabin, 
and  was  bidding  good-bye  to  another;  but  consistency 
was  no  part  of  war  pohtics,  and  he  rambled  on,  until 
Arthui'  cut  him  short  by  sajdng  they  could  wait  no  longer. 
"With  Arthur  as  a  safeguard  in  case  of  an  attack  from  Con- 
federates, and  Tom  Carleton  in  case  of  an  assault  from  the 
Unionists,  Maude  felt  perfectly  secure,  and  in  quiet  and 
safety  she  accomplished  her  journey,  and  was  welcomed 
with  open  arms  by  Paul  Haverill  and  Charhe.  Ai'thur 
could  only  stop  for  a  day  among  the  hills.  He  might  be 
ordered  back  to  his  regiment  at  any  time,  and,if  he  got 
that  other  chap  through  he  must  ^bestir  himself,  he  said; 
and  so  he  bade  good-bye  to  Maude,  in  whom  he  had  im- 
plicit faith,  and  whose  sober,  quiet  demeanor  he  tried  to 
attribute  to  her  sorrow  at  parting  with  him. 

"  She  does  like  me  some,  and  by  and  by  she  will  like 
me  better,"  he  said,  as  he  went  his  way,  leaving  her 
standing  in  the  doorway  of  her  uncle's  house,  her  face 
very  pale,  and  her  hands  pressed  closely  together,  as  if 
forcing  back  some  bitter  thought  or  silent  pain. 


suspicioK.  853 

Turning  once  ere  tlie  winding  road  hid  lier  from  view, 
Arthur  kissed  his  hand  to  her  gayly,  while  with  a  wave 
of  her  handkerchief  she  re-entered  the  house,  and  neither 
guessed  nor  dreamed  how  or  when  they  would  meet 
acfain. 


CHAPTEE  XXXn. 

SUSPICION. 


.AUDE  DE  YEEE  had  insisted  that  Captain 
Q^^f  Carleton  should  have  her  room,  inasmuch  as  he 
would  be  more  secui'e  there;  for,  if  the  house 
was  suspected  and  searched,  a  catastrophe  Paul  Haverill 
was  constantly  anticipating,  no  one  would  be  hkely  to  in- 
vade the  sanctity  of  her  apartment. 

And  Tom  found  it  so  very  pleasant,  and  quiet,  and 
home-hke,  that  he  was  not  at  all  indisposed  to  linger  for 
several  days,  particularly  after  Paul  found  an  opportunity 
for  sending  to  the  Federal  lines  a  letter,  which  wouid 
tell  the  anxious  friends  in  Eockland  of  his  safety.  This 
letter,  which  was  directed  to  Mrs.  William  Mather,  had 
been  the  direct  means  of  Tom's  ascertaining  that  his 
brother-in-law  was  not  only  alive,  but  had  once  shared 
in  the  hospitalities  now  so  freely  extended  to  himself. 
After  learning  this,  Tom  could  not  forbear  tearing  open 
the  envelope,  and  adding  in  a  postscript: 

"I  liave  just  heard  that  Will  -^as,  not  many  weeks  since,  a  guest 
in  this  very  house  where  I  am  so  kindly  cared  for.  God  bless  the 
noble  man  who  has  saved  so  many  lives,  and  the  beautiful  girl,  his 
niece.  I  cannot  say  enough  in  her  praise.  I  do  beheve  she  would 
die  for  a  Unionist  any  day.     Will,  it  seems,  did  not  see  her,  as  she 


S6^  ROSE  MATHER. 

■was  away  when  he  was  here;  and  perhaps  it  is  jnst  as  well  for  you, 
little  Rose,  that  he  did  not.  There  is  something  in  her  eye,  and 
voice,  and  carnage,  which  stirs  strange  thoughts  and  feelings  in  the 
hearts  of  us,  savages,  who  have  so  long  been  deprived  of  ladies'  so 
ciety.     She  is  a  very  queen  among  women." 

That  postscript  was  a  most  unlucky  thought.  The  first 
part  of  Tom's  letter  had  been  so  guarded  with  regard  to 
the  people  who  befriended  him,  that  no  harm  to  them 
could  possibly  have  accrued  fi'om  its  falling  into  hostile 
hands;  but  in  the  postscript  he  forgot  himself,  and  as- 
sumed forms  of  speech  which  pointed  dii-ectly  to  Paul 
Haverill  and  his  niece,  Maude  De  Vere.  And  so  the 
guerrillas,  who  caught  and  half  killed  the  refugee  en- 
trusted with  the  letter,  set  themselves  at  once  at  work 
to  find  the  *' noble  man  who  had  the  beautiful  niece." 
It  was  not  a  difficult  task;  and  Paul  Haverill,  who  had 
been  looked  upon  as  so  rank  a  Secessionist,  was  sud- 
denly suspected  of  treason. 

Paul  was  pox^ular  and  dangerous;  while  Maude  De 
Vere,  whose  principles  were  well  known,  was  too  much 
beloved  by  the  rough  mountaineers,  to  allow  of  harm 
falling  upon  her  at  once.  But  the  writer  of  that  letter, 
— the  "Yankee  Carleton" — should  not  go  unpunished, 
and  just  at  sunset  one  afternoon,  Lois,  who  had  been  at 
a  neighboring  cabin,  came  hurraing  home,  with  that 
ashen  hue  upon  her  dark  face  which  is  the  negro's  sign 
of  paleness. 

"  Mass'r  Paul  was  suspicioned  of  harborin'  somebody," 
she  said;  and  already  the  hordes  of  mountaineers  were 
assembUng  around  the  Cross  Roads,  and  concerting 
measures  for  surprising  and  entrapping  the  Yankee. 
"Chloe  tell  me  she  hear  'em  say  if  they  was  perfectly 
sure  'bout  mass'r,  and  it  wasn't  for  IMiss  Maude,  they'd 


SUSPICION.  355 

set  the  house  on  fire;  and  they  looks  mighty  Hke  they'g 
fit  to  do  it.  The  wust  faces,  Miss  Maude,  and  they  does 
swar  awful  'bout  the  Yankee.  They's  got  halters,  and 
tar  and  feathers,  and  guns." 

Lois  was  out  of  breath  by  this  time,  and  even  if  she 
had  not  been,  she  would  have  paused  with  wonder  at 
the  face  of  her  young  mistress.  Maude  had  listened  in- 
tently to  the  first  part  of  Lois's  story,  but  felt  no  emo- 
tion save  that  of  scorn  and  contempt  for  the  men  as- 
sembled at  the  Cross  Koads,  and  whom  "Uncle  Paul 
could  manage  so  easily;"  but  when  it  came  to  the  halter 
for  the  Yankee,  her  face  turned  white  as  marble,  and  in 
that  moment  of  peril,  she  realized  all  that  Captain  Carle- 
ton  was  to  her,  and  knew  wliat  had  been  the  rfesult  of 
the  last  week's  daily  intercourse  with  one  so  gifted  and 
so  congenial.  She  knew  too  that  he  was  not  for  her. 
Arthur  Tunbridge  stood  in  the  way  of  that.  She  would 
keep  her  faith  with  him,  but  she  would  save  Captain 
Carleton,  or  die. 

"Lois,"  she  said,  and  there  was  no  tremor  in  her  voice, 
"bring  that  dress  I  gave  you  last  Christmas,— the  one 
you  think  is  so  long.  Your  shawl  and  bonnet,  too,  and 
shoes;  bring  them  to  Captain  Carleton's  room." 

Lois  comprehended  her  mistress  at  once,  and  hurried 
away  to  her  cabin  after  the  dress,  whose  extra  length 
she  had  so  often  deplored,  saying  "it  wasn't  for  such^'as 
her  to  wear  switchin'  trains  like  the  grand  folks." 

Meanwhile  Maude  had  communicated  with  her  uncle, 
who  manifested  no  concern  except  for  his  guest,  and 
even  for  him  he  had  no  fears  provided  he  could  reach 
the  cave  in  safety.  To  accomplish  that  was  Maude's 
object,  and  as  the  Cross  Eoads  lay  in  that  dii^ection  a 
great   amount   of  tact    and   skill  was  necessary.     But 


356  ROSE  MATHER. 

Maude  was  equal  to  any  emergency,  and  half  an  hour 
later  there  issued  from  Paul  Havei-ill's  door,  two  figures 
clad  in  female  garments,  and  whom  a  casual  observer 
would  have  sworn  were  Maude  De  Vere  and  her  servant 
Lois.  Maude  had  a  revolver  in  her  pocket,  and  another 
in  the  basket  she  carried  so  carefully,  and  which  was 
supposed  to  contain  the  cups  of  jelly  and  custard  she 
was  taking  a  poor  sick  neighbor,  whose  house  was  up 
the  mountain  path.  At  her  side,  with  the  shuffling  gait 
peculiar  to  Lois,  Tom  Carleton  walked,  his  nicely  black- 
ened face  hidden  in  the  deep  shaker  which  Lois  had 
worn  for  years,  and  his  cahco  dress  flopping  awkwardly 
about  his  feet.  Lois  fortunately  was  very  tall,  and  so 
her  skirts  did  good  seiwice  for  the  young  man,  whose 
powers  of  imitation  were  perfect,  and  who  walked  and 
looked  exactly  like  the  old  colored  woman  watching  his 
progress  from  an  ujoper  window,  and  declaring  that  she 
would  almost  "  swar  it  was  herself." 

At  her  side  stood  Charlie,  a  round  spot  of  red  bui'ning 
on  either  pale  cheek,  and  his  slender  hands  grasping  a  re- 
volver, while  occasionally  his  blue  eyes  looked  eagerly 
along  the  mountain  road,  which  as  yet  was  quiet  and 
lonely. 

"  I  never  thought  to  raise  my  hand  against  my  own 
people,"  he  said,  "  but  if  they  harm  Uncle  Paul  I  shall 
shoot  somebody." 

The  sun  had  been  gone  fi'om  sight  for  some  Httle  time, 
and  the  tall  mountain  shadows  were  lying  thick  and 
black  across  the  valley,  when  up  the  road  several  horse- 
men came  galloping,  and  Paul  Haverill's  house  was  ere 
long  surrounded  by  a  band  of  as  rough,  savage  looking 
men  as  could  well  be  found  in  the  mountains  of  Tennessee. 
Calmly  and  fearlessly  Paul  Haverill  went  out  to  meet 


SUSPICION.  357 

them,  asking  why  they  were  there,  and  why  they  seemed 
so  much  excited. 

For  a  moment  his  old  power  over  them  asserted  itself 
again,  and  they  hesitated  to  charge  him  with  treason,  as 
they  intended  doing.  But  only  for  a  brief  space  was 
there  a  calm,  and  then  amid  oaths  and  imprecations,  and 
taunting  sneers,  and  thi-eats,  they  told  him  of  the  let- 
ter, and  deriding  him  as  a  traitor,  demanded  the  sneak- 
ing Yankee  who  had  written  that  letter,  and  was  now 
hidden  in  the  house.  To  reason  with  such  people  was 
useless,  and  Paul  Haverill  did  not  try  it.  Standing  upon 
his  doorstep,  with  his  grey  hair  blowing  in  the  evening 
wind,  and  his  hands  deep  in  his  pockets,  he  said, 

"I  admit  your  charge  in  part.  There  has  been  a 
Union  soldier  in  my  house, — an  escajDed  prisoner  from 
Columbia.  I  did  care  for  him,  and  I  am  neither  ashamed 
nor  afraid  to  own  it.  Fear  is  a  stranger  to  old  "Paul 
Haverill,  as  any  of  3'ou  v/ho  tries  to  harm  him  will  lind." 

"Never  mind  a  speech,  Paul,"  said  the  leader  of  the 
men.  "  Nobody  wants  to  hurt  you,  though  you  deserve 
hanging,  perhaps.  What  we  want  is  the  Yankee.  Fetch 
him  out,  and  let's  see  how  he'll  look  dangling  in  the  air." 

"  Yes,  fetch  him  out,"  yelled  a  dozen  voices  in  chorus. 
"  Bring  out  the  Yankee,  we  want  him.  Hallo,  puny  face, 
are  you  a  bad  egg,  too  ?"  they  continued,  as  Charlie  ap- 
peared in  the  door. 

"Shall  I  fire,  Uncle  Paul?"  Charlie  asked,  and  his 
uncle  replied, 

"  By  no  means,  unless  you  would  have  them  on  us  like 
wolves.  Friends,"  and  he  turned  to  the  mob,  which  liad 
been  increased  by  some  twenty  or  more,  "  friends,  that 
man  is  gone;  he  is  not  here;  he  has  left  my  house.  You 
can  search  it  if  you  hke." 

"  Where's  Miss  De  Vere  ?"  a  coarse  voice  cried.     "  We 


858  ROSE  MATHER. 

know  her  to  be  Union.  She  never  tried  to  cover  that  as 
you,  hoary  old  villain,  did.  She  was  out  and  out.  Let 
her  come  and  say  the  Yankee  is  gone  and  we  -wiU  believe 
her." 

"  My  niece,  I  regret  to  say,  is  not  just  now  in  either. 
She  is  gone  with  Lois  to  take  some  nicknacks  to  a  sick 
neighbor." 

"  That's  so,  boys.  I  met  her  myself  as  I  came  down 
the  mountain,"  called  out  a  young  man  of  the  company, 
who  seemed  to  be  superior  to  his  associates. 

"  Gone  with  Lois,  hey  ?  Then  whose  woolly  pate  is 
that?"  responded  a  drunken  brute,  who,  rising  in  his 
stirrups,  fired  a  shot  toward  the  garret  window  from 
which  Lois  in  an  unguarded  moment  had  thrust  her 
head. 

Others  had  seen  her,  too,  and  as  this  gave  the  lie  to 
the  story  that  Lois  was  gone,  the  maddened  crowd 
pressed  against  the  house,  declaring  their  intention  to 
search  it  and  hang  any  runaway  they  might  find  secreted 
here.  It  never  occurred  to  them  that  the  runaway  could 
have  been  with  Maude  in  Lois's  clothes;  but  the  young 
man  who  met  the  two  lone  women  saw  the  ruse  at  once, 
and  influenced  by  Maude's  beauty  and  the  remembrance 
of  the  sweet  "  Good  evening,  Mark,"  with  which  she  had 
greeted  him  as  he  passed,  he  made  his  way  to  Charlie's 
side  and  whispered, 

"  If  you  know  where  your  sister  has  gone,  and  can  warn 
her,  do  so  at  once.  TeU  her  if  she  is  tolerably  safe  to 
stay  there  and  not  return  here  to-night." 

Charlie  needed  no  second  bidding,  and  stealing  from 
the  rear  of  the  house  he  was  soon  speeding  up  the  moun- 
tain path  in  the  direction  of  the  cave.  Meanwhile  the 
search  in  Paul  HaveriU's  house  went  on.  Closets  were 
thrown   open;  beds  were   torn    to   pieces;  cellars  were 


IN  THE   CAVE.  859 

ransacked,  and  old  Lois  was  dragged  from  tlie  ash-house, 
where  she  had  taken  refuge,  while,  Vv^orse  than  all,  Tom 
Carleton's  boots  were  found  in  the  chamber  where  he 
had  dressed  so  huiTiedly,  and  the  sight  of  these  mad- 
dened the  excited  crowd,  which,  failing  of  finding  their 
victim,  began  to  clamor  for  Paul  Haverill's  blood.  But 
Paul  kept  them  at  bay.  In  the  rear  of  the  house  was  a 
small,  dark  room,  to  which  there  was  but  one  entrance, 
and  that  a  steep  narrow  stairway.  Here  Paul  Haverill 
took  refuge,  and  standing  at  the  head  of  the  stairs 
threatened  to  shoot  the  first  man  who  should  attempt  to 
come  up.  They  had  not  yet  reached  that  state  when 
they  counted  their  lives  as  nothing,  and  so  amid  yells 
and  oaths,  and  riding  up  and  down  the  road,  and  drink- 
ing the  fine  grape  wines  with  which  the  cellar  was  stocked, 
the  hours  of  the  short  summer  night  wore  on  until  just 
as  the  dawn  was  breaking  in  the  east,  the  marauders  put 
the  finishing  touch  to  their  night's  debauch  by  setting 
fire  to  the  house,  and  then  starting  in  a  body  up  the 
mountain  side  in  the  direction  of  the  cave. 


CHAPTER  XXXKL 

IN    THE    CAVE. 


HE  cave  was  dry  and  comparatively  comfortable, 
%^^  and  Tom  felt  as  he  entered  it  almost  like  going 
^4  F  home.  Will  Mather  had  spent  a  day  and  a  night 
there,  while  better  than  all,  Maude  De  Vere  was  with 
him,  her  bright  eyes  shining  upon  him  through  the  dark- 
ness, and  her  hands  touching  his  as  she  groped  around 


360  ROSE  MATHEE. 

for  tlie  candle  lier  uncle  had  said  was  on  a  slielf  in  tlio 
rock. 

It  was  presently  found,  and  Tvdtli  the  aid  of  the  match 
Maude  had  brought  with  her  a  hght  was  soon  struck,  its 
flickering  beams  lighting  up  the  dark  recesses  of  the 
cavern  with  a  ghastly  kind  of  hght,  which  to  Maude 
seemed  more  terrible  than  the  darkness.  She  was  not 
afraid,  but  her  nerves  were  shaken  as  only  threatened 
danger  to  Tom  Carleton  could  shake  them,  and  she  felt 
strangely  alone  on  the  ^ild  mountain  side  and  in  that 
silent  cavern. 

Tom  did  not  seem  hke  much  of  a  protector  in  that 
woman's  garb,  but  when,  with  a  shake  and  a  kick  and  a 
merry  laugh,  he  threw  aside  the  bonnet,  shawl  and  dress, 
and  stood  before  her  in  his  own  proper  person,  minus 
the  boots,  she  felt  all  her  courage  coming  back,  and  with 
him  beside  her  could  have  defied  the  entire  Southern 
army.  There  was  water  enough  in  the  spring  to  wash 
the  black  from  his  face,  and  Maude  lent  her  own  pretty 
ruffled  white  apron  for  a  towel,  and  theuj  when  his 
toilet  was  completed,  began  to  speak  of  returning. 

"  At  this  hour,  and  alone,  with  the  road  full  of  rob- 
bers ?  Never,  Maude,  never !  Tou  must  either  stay 
here  with  me,  or  I  shall  go  back  with  you,"  Tom  said, 
and  he  involuntarily  wound  his  arm  around  the  waist  of 
the  young  giii,  who  trembled  like  a  leaf. 

She  did  not  think  of  Arthur  then,  or  her  promise  to 
him,  for  something  in  Tom's  voice  and  manner  as  he 
put  his  arm  about  her  and  called  her  Maude,  brought  to 
her  a  feeHng  such  as  she  had  never  experienced  before. 
Perhaps  Tom  suspected  that  he  was  understood,  for  he 
held  her  closer  to  him,  and  passing  his  hand  ijaressingly 
over  her  burning  cheek,  he  whispered  : 

"  Dear   Maude,  I   cannot  let  you  incur   any  danger 


IN  THE  CAVE.  361 

"whicli  I  must  not  share.  "Sou  understand  me,  don't 
you?" 

She  thought  of  Arthur  then,  and  the  thought  cut  hke 
a  knife  through  her  heart.  She  must  not  understand; 
she  must  not  listen  to  words  hke  these;  she  must  not 
stay  there  to  hear  them,  and  with  a  quick  gesture  she 
was  removing  Tom's  arm  from  her  waist,  when  his  wary 
"  Hist!"  made  her  pause  and  stand  where  she  was,  lean- 
ing against  him,  and  heavily,  too,  as  terror  overcame 
every  other  feehng.  Footsteps  were  coming  near,  and 
coming  cautiously,  too,  up  to  the  very  entrance  of  the 
cave,  where  they  stopped  as  some  one  outside  seemed  to 
be  listening. 

It  was  a  moment  of  terrible  suspense,  and  Maude  could 
hear  the  throbbing  of  her  heart,  while  Tom  strained  her 
so  close  to  him  that  his  chin  rested  on  her  hair,  and  she 
felt  his  breath  upon  her  cheek. 

"  Maude, — sister  Maude,"  came  reassuringly  in  a  low 
whisper,  and  with  a  cry  Maude  burst  away  from  Tomj 
exclaiming  : 

"  Charhe,  what  brings  you  here  ?" 

He  explained  to  her  why  he  was  there,  and  that  she 
must  stay  all  night,  and  with  a  shudder  as  she  thought 
of  what  might  befall  her  uncle,  Maude  acquiesced  in  the 
decree,  feeling  glad  that  Charhe  was  with  them,  a  hin- 
drance and  preventive  to  the  utterance  of  words  she 
must  not  hear.  A  hindrance  he  was,  it  is  true,  but  not  a 
total  preventive,  for  by  and  by  the  tired  boy's  eyes  be- 
gan to  droop  as  drowsiness  stole  over  him,  and  when 
Tom  made  him  a  bed  with  Lois's  dress  and  shawl,  and 
bade  him  he  down  and  sleep,  he  did  so  at  once,  after  first 
offering  the  impromptu  couch  to  IVIaude. 

Seen  by  the  dim  candle-Hght,  Maude's  face  was  very 
white,  and  her   eyes  shone  like  burning  coals   as   she 

16 


362  EOSE   MATHER. 

watched  Captain  Carleton,  and  guessed  his  motive.  Had 
there  been  no  Ai'thur  in  the  way,  she  would  not  have 
shrunk  from  Captain  Carleton;  but  with  that  haunting 
memory  she  could  have  shrieked  aloud  when  she  saw 
the  weary  lids  droop  over  Charhe's  eyes,  and  knew  by 
his  regular  breathing  that  he  was  asleep. 

Tom  knew  it  as  soon  as  she  did,  but  for  a  time  he 
kept  silence;  then  he  came  close  to  her,  and  sitting 
down  by  her  side,  said,  softly: 

"  Maude,  you  and  I  have  been  very  strangely  thrown 
together,  and  as  I  once  said  'to  you,  there  is  a  meaning 
in  it,  if  we  will  but  find  it.  Shall  I  try  and  solve  it  for 
you,  or  do  you  know  yourself  what  is  in  my  mind  ?" 

She  did  know,  but  she  could  not  answer;  and  her  face 
drooped  over  her  brother,  whose  head  she  had  pillowed 
upon  her  lap. 

"  Perhaps  this  is  not  the  fitting  place  for  me  to  speak," 
Tom  continued,  "  but  if  the  morning  finds  me  in  safety, 
I  must  be  gone,  and  no  one  can  guess  when  we  may  meet 
again.  Let  me  tell  you,  Maude,  of  my  early  life  before 
ever  I  saw  or  dreamed  of  you." 

Surely  she  might  hear  this,  and  the  bowed  head  lifted 
itself  a  httle,  while  Captain  Carleton  told  first  of  his 
home  in  Boston,  of  beautiful  little  Rose,  and  saucy, 
dark-eyed  Jimmie,  and  then  of  the  pale,  proud  Mary,  his 
early  manhood's  love,  who  at  the  last  had  lost  the  pride 
and  hauteur  inherited  from  her  race,  and  had  died  so 
gentle  and  lowly,  and  gone  where  her  husband  one  day 
hoped  to  meet  her.  Then  there  came  a  pause,  and  Tom 
was  thinking  of  a  night  when  poor  Jimmie  sat  by  his 
side  before  the  lonely  tent  fire,  and  talked  with  him  of 
Annie  Graham.  Should  he  tell  Maude  of  that?  Yes, 
he  would  ;  and  by  the  even  beating  of  his  heart,  as  he 
made  that  resolve,  and  thought  of  Annie,  he  knew  he 


IN  THE   CAVE.  363 

bad  outlived  bis  fancy  for  one  of  wbom  be  spoke  unbesi- 
tatinglj,  praising  ber  girlisb  beauty,  telling  bow  pure  and 
good  sbe  was,  and  bow  once  a  bope  bad  stirred  bis  beart 
tbat  be,  perbaps,  migbt  win  ber. 

"  But  I  gave  ber  up  to  Jimmie.  Annie  will  be  my  sis- 
ter, and  I  know  now  wby  it  was  so  appointed.  God  bad 
in  store  for  me  a  gem  as  beautiful  as  Annie  Grabam,  and 
better  adapted  to  me.  I  mean  you,  Maude.  God  in- 
tends you  for  my  wife.  Do  you  accede  willingly?  Have 
you  any  love  for  tbe  poor  Yankee  soldier  wbo  bas  been 
so  long  dependent  upon  you  ?" 

He  bad  ber  bead  now  on  bis  arm,  and  witb  bis  band 
was  smootbing  ber  bands  of  satin  bair,  wbile  be  waited  for 
ber  to  speak.  He  bad  dealt  bonestly  witb  ber.  Sbe  would 
be  equally  trutbful  witb  bim,  and  sbe  answered  at  last: 

"  Ob,  Mr.  Carleton,  you  don't  know  bow  mucb  it  pains 
me  to  tell  you  wbat  I  must.  I  migbt  bave  loved  you 
once,  but  now  it  is  too  late.  I  promised  Artbur,  if  be 
would  be  kind  to  tbe  poor  prisoners  and  belp  tbe 
escaped  ones  to  get  away,  and,— ob,  I  don't  know  wbat, 
but  I  am  to  be  bis  wife  wben  tbe  dreadful  war  is  over. 
Pity  me,  Mr.  Carleton,  but  don't  love  me.  No,  no,  don't 
make  me  more  wretcbed  by  telling  me  of  a  love  I  cannot 
retui-n. 

"  Could  you  return  it,  Maude,  if  tbere  were  no  promise 
to  Artbui'  ?" 

Tom  spoke  very  low,  witb  bis  Hps  close  to  ber  burning 
cbeek,  but  Maude  did  not  reply,  and  Tom  continued: 

"  Maude,  was  tbe  getting  me  bere  in  safety  any  part  of 
tbe  price  for  wbicb  you  sold  yourself  ?" 

Sbe  did  not  answer  even  tben,  but  by  tbe  low,  gasp- 
ing sob  sbe  gave  as  sbe  sbed  back  from  ber  bot  brow  tbe 
beavy  bair,  Tom  knew  tbe  trutb,  and  to  liimself  be  said, 
"It  sball  not  be."    And  tben  from  bis  beart  tbere  went 


SC4:  KOSE  MATHEE. 

up  a  silent  prayer  that  God  would  give  him  the  brave, 
beautiful  girl,  who  drew  herself  away  from  him,  and 
leaning  over  her  sleeping  brother,  sat  ^-ith  both  hands 
clasjDed  upon  her  face.  They  did  not  talk  together  much 
more,  and  once  Tom  thought  Maude  was  asleep,  she  sat 
60  rigid  and  motionless,  with  her  face  turned  toward  the 
entrance  of  the  cave. 

But  she  was  not  asleep,  and  her  dark  eyes  were  fixed 
wistiully  upon  the  one  bright  star  visible  to  her,  and 
which  seemed  whispering  to  her  of  hope.  Perhaps  Ar- 
thur would  release  her  fi'om  her  promise,  and  perhaps, — 
but  Maude  started  fi'om  that  thought  as  fi'om  an  evil 
spirit,  and  her  white  lips  whispered  faintly,  "  God  help 
me  to  keep  my  promise." 

The  night  was  very  still,  and  as  the  hours  wore  on, 
and  the  faint  dawn  of  day  came  over  the  mountain  tops, 
Maude's  quick  ear  caught  the  echo  of  the  fierce  shouts  in 
the  valley  below,  and  lading  CharHe's  head  from  her  lap  she 
went  out  of  the  cave,  followed  by  Captain  Carleton,  who 
wondered  to  see  how  that  one  night  had  changed  her. 
The  briUianj:  color  was  gone  from  her  cheek,  which  looked 
haggard  and  pale,  as  faces  look  when  some  great  storm 
of  sorrow  has  passed  over  them.  Her  hair  had  fallen 
down  and  lay  in  masses  upon  her  neck,  from  which  she 
shook  it  off  impatiently,  and  then  intently  hstened  to 
the  sounds  which  each  moment  grew  louder.  Shoutings 
they  were,  and  tones  of  command,  mingled  with  the  dis- 
tant tramp  of  horses'  feet,  while  suddenly,  above  the  tall 
tree-tops  which  skirted  the  mountain  side,  arose  a  coil  of 
smoke.  Too  dark,  too  thick  to  have  come  from  any 
chimney  where  the  early  morning  fire  was  kindled,  it 
told  its  own  tale  of  horror,  and  Maude's  eyes  grew  so 
black  and  fierce  that   Tom  shrunk  back  from  her,  as, 


IN  THE    CAYE.  8G5 

pointing  her  finger  toward  the  fast  increasing  rings  of 
smoke  and  flame,  she  whispered  : 

.  "  Do  you  see  that,  Captain  Carleton  ?  It's  Uncle  Paul's 
dwelling;  they  have  set  it  on  fire.  I  never  thought  they 
would  do  that,  though  I  have  watched  more  than  one 
burning  house  in  these  moun.tains,  and  have  almost  felt 
a  thi'ill  of  pride  as  I  thought  how  dearly  we  were  pay- 
ing for  our  love  to  the  old  flag;  but  when  it  comes  to  my 
own  home,  the  pride  is  aU  gone,  the  fire  burns  deeper, 
and  one  is  half  tempted  to  question  the  price  required 
for  the  Union." 

Tom  was  about  to  speak  to  her,  when  she  turned  ab- 
ruptly upon  him,  and  said  : 

"  Captain  Carleton,  do  you  believe  your  Northern  wo- 
men,— your  Rose,  your  Annie  would  bear  and  brave  what 
the  loyal  women  of  the  South  endure  ?  They  may  be 
true  to  the  Union, — no  doubt  they  are,  and  they  think 
they  know  what  war  means;  but  I  tell  you  they  do  not. 
Did  they  ever  see  their  friends  and  neighbors  driven  to 
the  woods  and  hills  like  hunted  beasts,  or  watch  the 
kindling  flames  devouring  their  own  houses,  as  I  am  do- 
ing now  ?  for  I  know  that  is  my  Uncle  Paul's,  and  whether 
he  stiU  lives,  or  is  hung  between  the  earth  and  heavens, 
God  only  knows,  and  perhaps  he  has  forgotten.  I  some- 
times think  he  has,  else  why  does  he  not  send  us  aid  ? 
"Where  are  your  hordes  of  men  ?  Wh.j  do  they  not  come 
to  save  us,  when  we  have  waited  so  long,  and  our  eyes  and 
ears  are  weak  and  weary  with  watching  for  their  coming  ?" 

She  was  talking  now  more  to  herself  than  to  her  com- 
panion, and  she  looked  a  very  queen  of  tragedy,  as,  with 
her  hair  floating  over  her  shoulders,  and  her  hands 
pressed  tightly  together,  she  walked  hurriedly  the  length 
and  breadth  of  the  long  flat  rock  which  bordered  a  pre- 
cipice near  to  the  cave. 


866  ROSE  MATHEE. 

Tom  was  about  to  answer  her,  when  a  ball  went  whiz- 
'zing  past  him,  while  the  loud  sbouts  of  the  men,  whose 
heads  were  visible  beneath  the  distant  trees,  told  that 
he  had  been  discovered. 

To  return  to  the  cave  and  take  Maude  with  him,  was 
the  work  of  a  moment,  and  amid  yells  of  fury  the 
drunken  mob  came  on  to  where  Maude,  forgetting  every- 
thing now  except  Tom  Carleton,  stood  waiting  for  them. 
They  would  not  harm  her,  she  knew,  and  hke  a  honess 
guarding  its  young,  she  stood  within  the  cave,  but  so 
near  the  entrance  that  her  face  was  visible  to  the  men, 
who  at  sight  of  her  stopped  suddenly,  and  asked  what 
she  was  doing  there,  and  who  she  had  with  her. 

"My  brother  Charhe  and  Captain  Carleton,  the  man 
whom  you  sought  at  Uncle  Paul's,"  she  answered,  fear- 
lessly, as  she  held  with  a  firm  grasp  the  dangerous-look 
ing  weapon,  which  she  knew  how  to  use. 

"  And  pray,  what  may  you  be  doing  with  the  Yankee  ? 
asked  one  of  the  coarser  of  the  men;  and  Maude  rephed 

"  I  am  standing  between  him  and  just  such  creatures 
as  you  are," 

While  Tom,  grasping  her  shoulder,  said: 

"Step  aside,  Maude;  I  cannot  endure  this.  You,  a 
girl,  defending  me !     I  must  go  out.     Let  me  pass." 

"To  certain  death?  Never!"  Maude  replied,  thmst- 
ing  him  back  with  a  strength  born  of  desperation. 

Charlie,  who  had  roused  fi'om  his  sleep,  and  fully  com- 
prehended what  was  going  on,  caught  Tom  around  the 
neck,  and  nearly  strangled  him,  as  he  said: 

"Let  Maude  alone,  Captain  Carleton.  They'll  not 
harm  her.  They  would  only  shoot  you  down  for  noth- 
ing." 

Thus  hampered  and  importuned,  Tom  stood  back  a 
little,  while  Maude   held   a  parley  with  her   besiegers, 


m  THE  CAVE.  367 

threatening  to  shoot  the  first  man  who  should  attempt 
to  pass  her.  She  did  not  think  of  danger  to  herself,  and 
she  stood  firmly  at  her  post;  while  the  men  consulted 
together  as  to  the  best  course  to  be  pursued.  And  while 
they  talked,  and  Maude  stood  watchful  and  dauntless, 
the  flames  of  Paul  Haverill's  house  rose  higher  in  the 
heavens,  and  strange,  ominous  sounds  were  heard  in  the 
distance, — sounds  as  of  many  horsemen  riding  for  dear 
life,  with  shouts  and  excited  voices;  and  Maude  became 
aware  of  some  sudden  influence  working  upon  the  crowd 
around  her. 

Then  a  band  of  cavalry  dashed  into  sight,  and  aU  was 
wild  hurry  and  consternation.  But,  above  the  din  of 
the  strife  without,  Tom  Carleton  caught  sounds  which 
made  his  heart  leap  up,  aod  springing  forward  past 
Maude  De  Vere,  he  exclaimed  : 

"Thank  God,  the  Federals  have  come!  We  are 
saved !     Maude,  we  are  saved !" 

As  his  tall  form  emerged  into  view,  a  brutal  soldier, 
maddened  by  the  surprise  and  unavoidable  defeat,  level- 
ed his  gun  and  fired,  recking  httle  whether  Tom  or 
Maude  was  the  victim.  The  ball  cut  through  the  sleeve 
of  Maude's  dress,  and  grazing  her  arm  enough  to  draw 
oJood,  lodged  harmlessly  in  the  rocks  beyond. 

At  that  sight  all  Charlie's  fire  was  roused,  and  the 
shot  which  went  whizzing  through  the  air  made  surer 
work  than  did  the  one  intended  for  Tom  Carleton. 
Tom  was  out  upon  the  ledge  of  rocks  by  this  time,  grasp- 
ing the  hands  of  the  blue  coats,  who  were  a  part  of  a 
company  sent  out  to  reconnoiter,  and  who  had  reached 
Paul  Haverill's  house  just  after  the  rebels  had  left  it. 
At  first  they  had  tried  to  extinguish  the  flames,  but  find- 
ing that  impossible,  they  had  followed  the  enemy,  most 
of  whom  were  made  prisoners  of  war. 


368  ROSE   MATHER. 

Some  months  before,  John  Simms  had  been  trans- 
ferred from  the  Ai*my  of  the  Potomac  to  the  Army  of  the 
Cumberland,  and  he  it  was  who  led  his  men  to  the  res- 
cue, doing  it  the  more  daringly  and  willingly  when  he 
heard  who  was  in  danger.  He  was  a  captain  now,  and 
he  stood  gi-asping  Tom  Carleton's  hand,  when  a  piercing 
shriek  rose  on  the  air,  and  turning  round,  the  young 
men  saw  Maude  De  Vere  bending  over  the  prostrate  form 
of  a  soldier,  whose  head  she  gently  Hfted  up,  as  she 
moaned  bitterly : 

"  Oh,  Arthur,  Arthur!  how  came  you  here?" 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

POOR   ARTHUR. 


"r^i^yr.^  E  had  kept  his  word,  and  piloted  safely  across  the 
l/^^M,  mountains  the  prisoner  left  in  Hetty's  cabin. 
^i^^^  His  arrival  at  Paul  Haverill's  burning  home  had 
preceded  that  of  the  Federal  troops  by  twenty  minutes 
or  more,  and  when  he  heard  of  Maude's  danger,  he  fol- 
lowed our  soldiers  up  the  hillside  to  where  Maude  held 
the  entrance  to  the  cave.  He  saw  her,  and  tried  to  make 
his  voice  heard,  but  it  was  lost  amid  the  strife  and  noise  of 
the  conflict,  and  she  only  knew  of  his  presence,  when 
Charlie,  with  chattering  teeth,  and  a  face  as  white  as 
ashes,  clutched  her  dress  frantically,  and  said : 

"  Come,  sister,  come  this  way  to  Arthur, — somebody — 
shot  him.     Do  you  think  he  will  die  ?" 

Quick  as  lightning  the  remembrance  of  the  thought, 
which  had  yet  scarcely  been  a  thought,  of  just  such  a 


POOR  ARTHUR.  369 

contingency  as  this,  flashed  over  Maude,  sweeping  away 
all  the  pain,  the  teiror,  the  shrinking  she  had  felt  when 
she  contemplated  the  fulfillment  of  her  promise  to  Ar- 
thur Tunbridge.  He  was  lying  there  at  her  feet,  and 
the  grass  beneath  him  was  aU  a  pool  of  blood,  while  his 
dim  eyes  showed  that  the  objects  around  him  were  now 
but  faintly  discerned.  He  saw  Maude,  though,  and  when 
her  loud  cry  met  his  ear  he  smiled  a  glad,  grateful  smile, 
and  said  to  her,  as  she  knelt  beside  him  and  took  his 
head  in  her  lap — 

"  You  are  sorry,  Maude.  It  was  a  mistake.  You  did 
love  me  some." 

She  pressed  her  quivering  hps  to  his,  and  said 
again, 

"  Oh  Arthur !  Arthur !  how  came  you  here  ?" 

Ai'thur  knew  he  was  dying,  but,  shaking  off  all  thought 
of  his  own  pain,  he  explained  to  Maude  how  he  came 
there. 

"  The  man, — you  remember.  I  got  him  throizgh,  and 
I  am  not  sorry,  for  he  told  me  of  a  blind  mother  and  six 
little  children  dependent  upon  him  away  off  somewhere 
among  the  Ohio  hills.  Think  if  they  had  been  left  with- 
out support.  I  am  glad  I  saved  him  even  if  it  cost  my 
life.  And  still  it  is  hard  to  die,  Maude,  just  as  you  ai'e 
beginning  to  love  me,  for  you  are,  and  if  I  had  lived  you 
would  have  kept  your  promise  to  me. 

"Yes,  Arthur,  I  would,"  and  Maude's  white  fingers 
threaded  the  bloody  hair  and  moved  softly  over  the 
ghastly  face.  "Who  did  it,  Arthur?**  she  asked,  and 
Arthur's  face  flushed  to  a  purple  hue  as  with  a  moan  he 
said:        v 

"  Don*t  ask  me, — there  was  a  mistake.  I  had  taken  no 
part  ia  the  fi'ay,  except  to  knock  down  the  ruffian  who  fired 


S70  ROSE  MATHER. 

at  you.     I  was  standing  right  behind  him.     Yes,  there 
was  a  mistake.     Oh  Maude,  it  ivas  a  mistake." 

He  kept  repeating  the  words,  while  Maude  tried  to 
stop  the  blood  flowing  so  freely  from  the  wound  in  his 
temple.  The  ball  had  entered  there,  but  had  not  pene- 
trated to  the  brain,  and  he  retained  his  consciousness  to 
the  last,  smiliug  once  kindly  on  Charhe,  who,  half  frantic, 
bent  over  him,  and  said : 

"Yes,  Arthur,  it  was  a  mistake,  oh  Arthur,  oh  Maude, 
and  you  two  were  engaged.     I  did  not  know  it  before.'* 

Then  a  bright  flush  crept  into  Maude's  white  face,  for 
she  knew  the  tall  shadow  on  the  grass  beside  her  be- 
longed to  Capt.  Carleton,  and  he,  she  guessed,  was 
thinking  of  last  night  in  the  cave.  He  did  think  of 
it,,  but  only  for  a  moment,  and  then  his  thoughts  were 
merged  ia  his  great  anxiety  for  Lieutenant  Arthur,  who 
he  saw  was  dying.  Arthur  knew  he  was  there,  and 
smiled  when  he  asked  if  he  felt  much  pain. 

"  None  with  Maude  beside  me.  She  was  to  have  been 
my  wife,  wern't  you,  Maude  ?" 

"  Yes,  Arthur.     I  was  to  have  been  your  wife." 

She  spoka  it  openly,  frankly,  as  if  by  so  doing  she  was 
seeking  to  atone  for  an  error,  and  the  eyes  lifted  to  Tom's 
face  had  in  them  something  defiant,  as  if  she  would  say 
"  I  mean  it.     I  would  have  been  his  wife." 

But  she  met  only  pity  in  Tom's  looks — pity  for  her,  and 
pity  for  the  young  man  dying  among  the  mountains  on 
that  soft,  summer  morning,  when  the  whole  world  seemed 
so  at  variance  with  a  death  like  that.  It  was  a  strange 
scene,  and  one  which  those  who  witnessed  it  never  could 
forget.  The  broad,  level  plat  on  the  mountain  side,  the 
mounted  horsemen,  the  group  of  prisoners,  the  beauti- 
ful, queenly  gii'l,  whose  lap  pillowed  the  head  of  the  dy- 
ing soldier,  while  her  brilliant  eyes  wept  floods  of  teara 


POOR  ABTHUR.  871 

whicli,  witli  quick,  nervous  movements  of  her  fingers,  she 
swept  a-^ay.  Beside  her  was  Charlie,  his  face  whiter 
than  that  of  the  dj^dng  man,  and  his  muscles  working 
painfully  as  if  he  was  forcing  back  some  terrible  pang  or 
cry  of  agony.  Tom  Carleton,  too,  and  Paul  Haverill, 
who  had  later  joined  the  group  and  stood  looking  sadly 
on,  while  toward  the  south  the  smoke  aijd  flame  of  his  own 
house  was  ascending,  and  in  the  east  the  early  morning 
was  bright  and  fresh  with  the  summer's  golden  sunshine. 
And  there  on  the  mountain  side  they  waited  and  watched, 
while  the  young  lieutenant  talked  faintly  of  his  distant 
home  where  the  news  would  carry  so  much  sorrow. 

"  Tell  father  I  died  behe^ing  in  our  cause,  and  were  I 
to  live  my  life  over  I  should  join  the  Southern  army  ;  but 
it's  wrong  about  the  prisoners.  We  ought  not  to  abuse 
those  who  fall  into  our  hands,  I've  loved  you  Maude, 
so  long.  Remember  me  when  I  am  gone,  not  for  any- 
thing brilhant  there  was  about  me,  but  because  I  loved 
you  so  well,  and  died  in  carrying  out  the  work  you  gave 
me  to  do." 

"Oh,  Arthur!  Arthur!  speak  some  word  of  comfort 
to  me  or  I  shall  surely  die.  It  ivas  a  mistake,"  Charlie 
whispered,  as  he  crept  close  to  Arthur's  side. 

The  dying  man's  eyes  rested  inquiringly  for  a  mo- 
ment in  Charlie's  face,  then  hghted  up  with  a  sudden 

joy- 

"  Charlie  !  Charlie !  come  close,"  he  whispered;  *'  Bend 
your  ear  to  my  lips.     Maude  must  not  hear  me." 

His  head  was  still  lying  on  Maude's  lap,  but  he  spoke 
so  low  to  Charlie  that  she  did  not  hear  the  question 
asked.  She  only  knew  that  Charlie  started  quickly,  and 
throwing  one  arm  across  her  neck  as  if  to  save  her  from 
some  evil,  said,  promptly,  energetically: 

"  No,  no,  Arthur;   no !" 


872  ROSE   MATHER. 

Then  the  quivering  lips  went  down  again  to  Arthur's 
ear,  and  Maude  caught  the  word  "  mistake,"  *and  that 
was  all.  She  did  not  know  or  think  what  it  really 
meant.  It  was  all  a  mistake,  the  ten-ible  war  which  had 
brought  her  so  much  pain  and  suffering. 

"  I  die  easier  now.  It  was  so  horrible  before.  Poor 
Charhe!  Don't  kt  it  trouble  you.  Care  for  Maude. 
She  would  have  been  my  wife.  Stick  to  our  cp-use.  You 
never  forsook  it,"  came  faintly  fi*om  Arthur,  and  his  eyes, 
when  again  they  rested  on  Maude's  face,  had  lost  the 
strange,  frightened  look  which  she  had  observed  when 
she  first  came  to  his  side.  He  was  dying  very  fast,  and 
his  mind  seemed  groping  for  some  form  of  prayer  with 
which  to  meet  the  last  great  foe. 

"Pray,  somebody,"  he  moaned,  and  Paul  Haverill, 
who,  wholly  overcome  "VNith  all  he  had  passed  through 
during  the  last  few  hours,  had  stood  dumb  and  motion- 
less, repKed  in  a  choking  voice  : 

"  I  am  not  a  praying  man,  but  God  be  with  you,  my 
boy,  and  land  you  safely  on  t'other  side,  where  there's  no 
more  fighting." 

"  Yes,  but  that  isn't  '  Our  Father.'  I  used  to  say  it  at 
home,"  came  feebly  from  the  white  lips,  and  then  Tom 
Carleton  knelt  beside  the  youth  whose  path  had  crossed 
his  own  so  often  and  so  strangely,  and  with  deep  rever- 
ence and  earnest  entreaty  commended  the  departing  spirit 
to  the  God  who  deals  more  gently,  and  mercifully,  and 
lovingly  with  his  childi'en  than  they  dealt  with  each  other. 

Tom  thought  of  Isaac  Simms,  and  the  noisome,  filthy 
room  in  Libby  where  he  had  first  learned  to  pray, 
and  the  thought  gave  fervor  to  his  prayer,  to  which 
Arthur  hstened  intently,  his  hps  motioning  the  amen 
he  could  not  speak,  for  he  had  no  power  of  utter- 
ance.    Once  again  they  moved  with  a  pleading  kind  of 


THE  DEAD  AND  THE  LIVING.  373 

motion,  and  Maude  stooped  over  to  kiss  them,  her  long 
hair  falling  across  the  pallid  brow,  where  the  blood  stains 
were,  and  when  she  hfted  her  head  up,  and  pushed  back 
her  heavy  locks,  there  was  the  seal  of  death  on  Arthur's 
face. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE   DEAD   AND    THE    LIVING. 


y  M^  F  all  Paul  Haverill's  comfortable  buildings,  house, 
jj^^  stables,  barn  and  negro  quarters,  there  was"  left 
}^^  him  only  one  cabin  which  the  fire  had  not  con- 
sumed. That  stood  a  httle  distant  fi'om  the  rest,  and 
had  been  occupied  by  Lois  before  her  husband  died.  It 
was  superior  to  the  other  cabins  then;  it  was  neat  and 
tidy  now,  and  there  they  laid  the  dead  Heutenant,  in  his 
gi-ey  uniform,  with  a  little  flag  of  stars  and  bars  across 
his  breast.  This  was  Charhe's  thought,  and  it  was  very 
mete  that  he  who  to  the  last  had  beheved  in  the  righte- 
ousness of  the  Confederacy  should  have  her  sign  above 
him.  There  was  no  other  spot  except  the  cabin  where 
Maude  could  stay,  and  the  entire  day  and  night  she  sat 
by  her  dead  Arthur,  whom,  now  that  he  was  dead,  she 
cherished  in  her  heart  as  a  martyr  and  a  hero,  questioning 
even  the  ground  on  which  she  had  hitherto  stood  so 
firmly,  and  asking  herself  if,  after  all,  the  South  was  so 
very  far  out  of  the  way,  or  if  the  Union  were  worth  the 
fearful  price  the  Southern  people  were  paying  for  it. 
Maude  did  not  know  herself  in  this  mood.  It  was  so 
iinlike  all  her  former  theories,  and  more  than  once  she 


374  EOSE  MATHER. 

pressed  lier  hot  hands  to  her  still  hotter  head,  and  asked 
if  she  was  going  mad. 

Crouched  beside  Maude,  with  his  blue  eyes  fixed  upon 
her  with  a  pitying,  remorseful  look,  was  Charlie. 

"Poor  Maude, — poor  sister!  I  am  so  sorry.  I  never 
thought, — I  did  not  know;  you  used  to  laugh  about  him 
so  to  Uncle  Paul.  I'd  give  my  life  to  bring  him  back 
for  you.  Did  you  love  him  so  very  much  ?"  CharUe  said, 
in  broken  sentences,  and  then  Maude  shivered  from  head 
to  foot,  but  made  him  no  reply. 

>  She  had  not  loved  him  so  very  much,  but  his  violent 
death  and  all  the  horrors  attending  it  had  shaken  her 
terribly,  and  -could  he  have  come  back  to  life  she  would 
have  tried  to  love  him,  and  with  her  iron  will  would 
have  crushed  that  other  love,  the  very  knowledge  of 
which  had  made  her  heart  throb  with  so  much  joy. 

But  the  dead  come  not  to  hfe  again,  and  the  next 
morning  they  buried  Arthur  Tunbridge  in  the  grassy 
enclosure  where  Paul  Haverill's  wife  was  sleeping  with 
the  infant  son  who,  had  he  Hved,  would  have  been  just 
Arthur's  a^e.  The  blue  coated  soldiery,  who  had  been 
his  deadly  foes,  paid  him  every  military  honor  possible 
within  thf  ir  means,  even  marching  to  his  grave  behind 
the  stars  and  bars  which  lay  upon  his  coffin;  but  when 
they  cam^.  back  from  the  burial,  they  bore  the  national 
flag,  whose  folds  that  peaceful  summer  night  floated  in 
the  breeze  from  the  top  of  Lois's  cabin. 

Very  kind,  and  gentle,  and  pitiful  was  Tom's  de- 
meanor toward  Maude.  During  the  day  and  the  night, 
when  she  had  sat  by  Arthur  in  Lois's  cabin,  he  had  not 
been  near  her;  but,  after  all  was  over,  he  went  to  her, 
and,  with  the  authority  of  a  friend  and  brother,  insisted 
that  she  should  take  the  rest  she  needed  so  much.  And 
Maude  gave  way  at  the  sound  of  his  soothing,  quieting 


THE  DEAD  AND   THE  LIVING.  375 

voice,  and,  with  a  flood  of  tears,  did  what  he  bade  her 
do.  And  then  Tom  sat  by  her,  and  bathed  her  throb- 
bing head,  and  smoothed  her  beautiful  hair,  and  paid 
back  in  part  the  services  she  had  rendered  him  when  he 
lay  sick  in  Squire  Tunbridge's  house. 

Maude  was  not  ill, — only  exhausted, — ^both  physically 
and  mentally  the  exhaustion  showing  itseK  in  the  qniet, 
listless  state  into  which  she  lapsed,  paying  but  Httle 
attention  to  what  was  passing  around  her,  and  offering 
no  suggestion  or  remonstrance  when  told  of  her  uncle's 
plan  to  accompany  Captain  Simms  and  his  men  to  Knox- 
viUe. 

Over  Paul  Haverill,  too,  a  change  had  passed.  The 
attack  upon  him  by  his  old  friends  and  neighbors,  though 
long  expected,  had  been  sudden  and  terrible  when  it 
came,  and  as  he  watched  the  burning  of  the  house  which 
had  been  his  so  long,  he  felt  that  every  tie  which  bound 
him  to  the  old*  place  was  severed.  Then  came  swiftly 
the  fearful  tragedy  of  the  mountains,  when  Arthur  was. 
brought  to  him  dead.  Stunned  and  bewildered  by  the 
startling  events  which  had  followed  each  other  so  rapidly, 
Paul  was  hardly  able  to  counsel  for  himself,  and  as- 
sented readily  to  the  plan  which  had  really  originated 
with  Captain  Carleton,  who  had  another  scheme  under- 
lying that,  but  who  suggested  both  so  skillfully  that  Paul 
Haverill  fancied  they  were  his  own  ideas,  and  gave  them 
as  such  to  Maude.  They  would  go  to  Knoxville  with  the 
soldiers,  he  said  ;  thence  to  Nashville.  They  had  some 
relatives  hving  there,  and,  after  resting  for  a  little,  they 
would  continue  their  journejings  North,  going,  perhaps, 
as  far  as  New  York. 

"I  always  wanted  to  travel  North,"  he  said,  "but 
my  affairs  kept  me  at  home.  Now  I  have  no  affairs. 
My  neighbors  have   relieved  me  of  such   commodities 


376  EOSE  MATHER. 

and  I  want  to  get  away  from  a  spot  where  I  have  wit- 
nessed such  dreadful  things.  We  all  need  change. 
You,  Maude,  more  than  I,  and  Charlie  more  than  either. 
I  don't  know  what  has  come  over  the  boy.  That  horri- 
ble night  and  morning  were  too  much  for  him." 

Maude  knew  that  so  far  as  Charlie  was  concerned, 
her  uncle  had  spoken  truly.  Charlie  was  greatly 
changed,  and  his  eyes  had  in  them  a  scared  look,  as  if 
every  detail  of  the  horrors  of  the  fight  on  the  mountain 
had  stamped  itself  indehbly  upon  his  mind,  and  was 
never  for  an  instant  forgotten. 

He  needed  a  change  of  place  and  scene;  and  as  she 
could  not  return  to  Arthur's  desolate  home,  whither  the 
sad  news  had  been  sent  at  once,  Maude  assented  to  the 
Nashville  arrangement,  and  in  three  weeks  was  com- 
fortably settled  at'  a  Nashville  hotel,  with  Lois  as  her 
attendant.  Her  uncle,  CharHe,  and  Captain  Carleton 
were  with  her,  the  latter  constantly  "putting  off  his 
.journey  to  Rockland,  where  they  were  so  anxiously  wait- 
ing for  him.  He  had  written  to  Rose  immediately  after 
his  arrival  at  Nashville,  telKng  her  of  all  that  had  tran- 
spired, and  speaking  of  Maude  De  Vere  as  one  whom  he 
hoped  to  make  his  wife.  '  This  time  the  letter  went  safe- 
ly, and  Rose  rephed  at  once,  urging  Tom  to  come,  and 
insisting  that  ]VIr.  Haverill,  Maude  and  Charhe  should 
accompany  him. 

"  They  saved  Will's  life  as  well  as  yours,"  Rose  wrote. 
"  I  have  a  right  to  them  aU,  and  especially  to  the  noble 
Maude.  Bring  her  to  me,  Tom,  and  let  me  coax  back 
the  color  to  her  dear  face  and  the  brightness  to  her  eyes. 
I  shall  come  myself  and  get  her  if  she  refuses." 

Maude  had  never  known  the  companionship  of  a  sister, 
— had  never  had   a   single  intimate  girl  friend  except 


THE  DEAD   AND   THE  LIVING.  377 

Nettie  Tunbridge,  who  died.  Independent,  strong  willed 
and  self-reliant,  she  had  cared  but  little  for  any  society 
except  that  which  she  found  with  nature  in  the  wild 
mountains  of  Tennessee;  but  now,  broken  and  shocked, 
and  shorn  of  some  of  her  strength,  she  longed  for  sym- 
pathy and  companionship,  and  something  in  Rose 
Mather's  sprightly  letter  made  her  heart  yearn  toward 
the  little  lady  who  had  written  it,  and  the  pleasant 
home  which  Rose  described  as  beautiful  with  the  sum- 
mer bloom. 

"I  will  think  about  it  by  and  by,"  she  said  to  her 
imcle  ;  "but  for  the  present  it  is  nice  to  rest  here  in 
Nashville." 

So  for  a  time  longer  they  lingered  in  Tennessee,  while 
Rose  waited  impatiently  for  them  and  fretted  at  the  de- 
lay. 


CHAPTER  XXXYL 

ANDERS02m:LLE   PRISONERS. 

**,rp|pHIS  seems  to  be  one  of  the  worst  cases  we  have 
^4,.^^     had.      I   doubt  if   his   mind  will   siu'vive   the 


horrors    he    has    endured,    even  if    his    body 
Poor  fellow !  his  mother  would  not  recognize  him 
now." 

This  was  what  the  physician  at  Annapolis  said  to  IVIrs. 
Simms  of  a  miserable,  emaciated  skeleton,  which  had 
come  up  from  Andersonville  with  the  last  arrival  of  pris- 
oners. 


878  EOSE  MATHER. 

Wliile  we  in  the  mountains  of  Tennessee  were  tracing 
the  wanderings  of  Will  Mather  and  Captain  Carleton, 
IVIrs.  Simms  and  Annie  had  stood  untiringly  at  their 
posts  beside  the  sick  and  dying  soldiers  who  had  learned 
to  bless  and  watch  for  the  stern  widow,  and  to  love  and 
worship  the  beautiful  Annie  Graham.  And  well  had 
she  earned  such  appreciation,  for  she  had  been  most 
faithful  to  the  wretched  ones  committed  to  her  care, — 
faithful  both  to  body  and  soul,  and  in  the  better  world 
she  knew  there  was  waiting  to  welcome  her  more  than 
one,  whose  darkened  mind  she  had  led  to  the  fountain 
of  all  Hght.  And  Annie  had  made  a  vow  to  stay  till 
from  that  foul  Southern  prison,  where  28,000  men  had 
died,  there  came  to  her  the  one  for  whom  she  always 
looked  so  anxiously  when  new  arrivals  came,  her  blue 
eyes  running  rapidly  over  each  wasted  form,  and  then 
filling  with  tears  when  the  scrutiny  was  found  to  be  in 
vain. 

James  Carleton  had  never  been  heard  from  since  that 
letter  sent  to  her  so  long  ago,  and  hope  had  died  out  of 
Annie's  heart,  when  at  last,  with  Widow  Simms,  she 
stood  by  the  cot  where  lay  the  insensible  form  of  which 
the  physician  had  spoken  so  discouragingly. 

It  was  the  figure  of  a  young  man,  who  must  once  have 
been  finely  formed,  with  handsome  face  and  hair  and 
eyes.  The  latter  were  closed  now,  and  only  the  hds 
moved  with  a  convulsive  motion,  as  Annie  bent  over 
him.  The  dark  hair,  matted  and  coarse  and  filthy,  had 
curled  in  rings  about  the  bony  forehead,  but  had  been 
cut  away  when  the  bath  >vas  given,  and  the  closely 
shorn  head  was  Hke  many  other  heads  which  Annie 
Graham's  hands  had  touched,  gently,  tenderly,  as  they 
now  moved  over  this  one,  trying  to  infuse  some  life  into 
the  breathing  skeleton.     He  was  to  be  her  charge, — he 


AKDERSONYILLE  PRISONERS.  379 

■was  in  her  division  and  Mrs.  Simms'  keen  grey  eyea 
scanned  Annie  curiously  as  she  bent  over  the  poor  fel- 
low. 

He  was  helpless  as  an  infant,  and  Annie  nursed  him 
much  as  she  would  have  nursed  a  baby  whose  Hfe  hung 
1  on  a  thread.  He  had  been  there  four  days,  and  only  a 
faint,  moaning  sound  had  given  token  of  life  or  conscious- 
ness. But  at  the  close  of  the  fourth  day,  as  Annie  sat 
chafing  the  pulseless  fingers  where  the  gi-ey  skin  hung  so 
loosely,  the  eyes  opened  for  a  moment  and  were  fixed 
upon  her  face.  There  was  no  consciousness  in  them, — 
no  recognitidn  of  her  presence,  nothing  but  the  strained, 
hungry,  despaii'ing  look  Annie  had  seen  in  the  eyes  of 
somany  of  our  prisoners,  and  which  to  a  greater  or 
less  degree  was  pecuhar  to  them  alL  Annie  saw  this 
look,  and  then  underneath  it  all  she  saw  something 
more, — what  it  was  she  could  not  tell,  but  it  brought 
back  to  her  those  moonhght  nights  upon  the  beach  at 
New  London,  and  that  other  night  of  more  recent  date, 
when  she  sat  with  Jimmie  Carleton  beneath  the  Kock- 
land  sky  and  heard  his  passionate  words  of  love,  and 
saw  his  soft,  black  eyes  kindle  with  earnestness  and  then 
grow  sad  and  sorrowful  with  disappointment.  There 
was  no  kindling  in  them  now, — no  ardent  passion  or  heat 
of  love, — but  a  certain  softness  and  brightness,  and  even 
sauciness,  lingered  still  and  told  Annie  at  last  who  it  was. 

"  Oh,  merciful  Father !  it  is  Jimmie  F'  she  said,  and  un- 
mindful of  any  who  might  be  looking  on,  she  bent  down 
and  kissed  the  sunken  cheeks  fi-om  which  the  flesh  was 
gone. 

She  had  expected  him  so  long,  and  grown  so  weary 
and  hopeless  with  expectations  unfulfilled,  that  she  could 
scarcely  believe  it  now,  or  reahze  that  the  half  dead 
wretch  before  her  was  once  the  lively,  humorous,  teasing 


880  EOSE  MATHER. 

Jiiumie  Carleton.  How  she  pitied  him,  and  how  her 
heart  throbbed  as  she  thought  of  the  suffering  he  must 
have  endured  ere  he  reached  this  state  of  apparent  imbe- 
cility. Then,  as  she  remembered  what  the  physician 
said  about  his  mind,  she  dropped  upon  her  knees,  and 
clasping  her  hands  over  her  face,  prayed  earnestly  that 
God  would  remove  the  darkness  and  wholly  restore  the 
man  whom  she  loved  so  dearly. 

"  Do  you  think  he  will  die  ?"  she  asked  Mrs.  Simms, 
who  had  come  for  a  moment  to  her  side. 

"  You  know  him,  then.  I  was  wondering  that  an  old 
woman  hke  me  should  see  clearer  than  you.  I  mistrust- 
ed from  the  first,"  !Mrs.  Simms  answered,  and  then  to 
Annie's  eager  questioning  she  replied,  "It  will  be  almost 
a  miracle  if  we  do  get  any  sense  into  that  brain,  or  flesh 
upon  these  bones,  but  we'll  do  the  best  we  can." 

Her  words  were  not  very  encouraging,  and  Annie's 
tears  fell  like  rain  upon  the  face  of  the  man  who  gave  no 
sign  that  he  knew  where  he  was,  or  who  was  bending 
over  him.  Oh!  how  he  had  longed  for  the  air  of  the 
North,  as  his  face  daily  grew  thinner,  greyer,  and  more 
coi"ps&-like,.  while  his  flesh  seemed  shi'ivelling  and  drying 
on  his  bones.  Bill  Baker  had  done  what  he  could  to 
ameliorate  his  condition, — done  too  much  in  fact,  and  as 
the  result  he  suddenly  found  himself  shorn  of  his  privi- 
leges, and  an  inmate  again  of  the  dreadful  prison.  Even 
then  he  clung  to  and  cared  for  Jimmie,  until  the  pangs 
of  starvation  and  the  pains  of  sickness  made  him  forget- 
ful of  all  but  himself.  And  there  they  pined  and  ,wept 
and  waited  until  the  day  of  their  release,  when  Bill  was 
too  ill  to  be  removed,  and  was  left  in  charge  of  a  humane 
family,  who  kindly  promised  to  care  for  him  until  he  was 
better.  From  a  Rockland  soldier  who  had  been  taken 
prisoner  at  the  battle  of  the  "Wilderness,  Jimmie   had 


THE  AEDEESONYILLE  PRISONERS.  381 

heard  that  Mrs.  Graham  was  at  Annapolis,  and  then !  oh, 
how  he  longed  for  the  time  when  it  might  be  his  fate  to  be 
tended  and  nursed  by  her.  She  would  do  it  so  gently,  and 
so  kindly,  and  in  his  dreams  the  walls  of  his  pestilential 
prison  stretched  away  to  the  green  fields  of  the  North, 
where  he  walked  again  with  Annie,  and  felt  the  clasp  of  her 
httle  hand,  and  the  light  of  her  blue  eyes.  She  was  al- 
ways present  with  him, — she  or  the  little  Lulu,  of  Pequot 
memory.  Somehow  these  two  were  strangely  mixed,  and 
when  his  mind  began  to  totter  as  the  physical  strain  on  it 
became  too  great,  the  two  faces  were  united  in  one  body, 
and  both  bent  lovingly  over  him,  just  as  Annie  Graham 
was  doing  now  when  he  was  past  knowing  or  caring  who 
ministered  to  him.  A  vague  suspicion  he  had  at  inter- 
vals that  in  some  respects  there  was  a  change,  that  his 
bed  was  not  the  filthy  sand  bank,  nor  his  covering  the 
pitiless  sky.  Gradually,  too,  there  came  a  different  look 
upon  his  face;  the  color  was  changing  fi-om  the  dingy 
gray,  to  a  more  life-like  hue;  flesh  was  showing  a  httle 
beneath  the  skin,  and  the  dark  hair  began  to  grow,  and 
Annie  watered  the  tiny  curls  with  bitter  tears,  for,  as 
proof  of  the  terrible  life  whose  horrors  will  never  half  be 
written,  the  once  black  hair  was  coming  out  streaked  with 
grey.  Tney  knew  in  Kockland  that  he  was  at  Annapolis, 
but  Annie  had  peremptorily  forbidden  either  ]\Irs.  Carle- 
ton  or  Eose  to  come.  "  They  could  do  no  good,"  she 
wrote.  "  Jimmie  Tfould  not  know  them ;  and  they 
might  be  in  the  way." 

They  were  constantly  expecting  Tom  from  Tennessee, 
with  Maude  De  Vere  and  her  friends,  and  so  they  re- 
mained at  home  the  more  willingly,  enjoining  it  upon 
Annie  to  write  them  every  day,  just  a  line  to  tell  how 
Jimmie  was. 


382  ROSE   MATHER. 

The  summer  rain  was  falling  softly  upon  the  streets  of 
Annapolis,  and  the  cool  evening  air  came  stealing  into 
the  room,  where  Annie  Graham  sat  by  her  patient. 
There  were  not  so  many  now  in  her  ward,  and  she  had 
more  time  for  Jimmie,  by  whose  bedside  every  leisure 
moment  was  passed.  She  was  sitting  by  him  now,  watch- 
ing him  as  he  slept,  and  listening  breathlessly  to  his  low 
mui'mui'ings  as  he  seemed  to  be  talking  of  her  and  the 
dreadful  prison-life.  Then  he  slept  more  soundly,  and 
she  arranged  the  hght  so  that  it  left  his  face  in  shadow, 
but  fell  full  upon  her  own. 

Half  an  hour  passed  in  this  way,  and  Annie's  head  was 
beginning  to  droop  from  languor  and  drowsiness,  when 
a  sudden  exclamation  startled  her,  and  she  looked  up  to 
see  her  patient's  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  while  with  his  fin- 
ger he  pointed  to  the  window  opposite,  and  whispered, 

"  The  star,  it's  risen  again,  when  I  thought  it  had  set 
forever.  I  take  it  as  a  good  omen.  Bill.  I  shall  see  her 
face  again." 

Did  he  think  himself  in  prison  stHl,  with  that  star 
shining  over  him,  and  did  he  take  her  for  Bill  Baker  ? 
The  thought  was  not  a  very  complimentary  one,  but  An- 
nie forgot  evei-y thing  in  her  joy,  at  this  evidence  of  re- 
tui'ning  reason. 

"Jimmie,"  she  said  softly,  and  she  bent  her  face  so 
close  to  his,  that  her  lips  touched  his  forehead,  "  Jimmie, 
don't  you  know  that  you  are  in  Annapolis,  ^vith  me,  with 
Annie  Graham.     You  remember  Annie  ?" 

She  had  many  a  time  said  these  very  words  in  his  ear, 
hoping  somehow  to  impress  them  upon  him,  and  now 
she  had  succeeded,  for  he  repeated  them  after  her  slowly, 
and  with  long  pauses,  like  a  school-boy  trying  to  say  a 
half-learned  lesson. 

"Jimmie — don't  you — ^know — that  you — are  here — in 


THE  AKDEESONTELLE  PRISONEKS.  383 

—Annapolis — Tvith  me — with — Annie — Graham — Ton  re- 
member— Annie  ?" 

And  as  he  said  them  consciousness  began  to  struggle 
back, — the  black  eyes  fastened  themselves  upon  Annie 
■with  a  wistful  look ;  then  they  took  in  her  dress,  her 
hands  folded  in  her  lap,  the  decent  covering  on  the  bed, 
the  furniture  of  the  room,  and  then  throwing  up  his  arms 
he  felt  of  his  flesh,  and  examined  his  linen,  and  patted 
the  pillow,  while  still  the  look  of  wonder  and  perplexity 
deepened  on  his  face.  Suddenly  he  let  his  arms  drop 
helplessly,  then  stretched  them  feebly  towards  Annie,  and 
while  both  chin  and  lip  quivered  touchingly,  and  the 
tears  streamed  from  his  eyes,  he  whispered, 

"Clean  face,  clean  hands,  soft  pillow  and  bed,  with 
the  hunger,  and  thirst,  and  home-sickness  gone.  This 
is — ^yes,  this  must  be  God's  land,  and  she  is  there  with 
me.'* 

He  fainted  then.  The  shock  of  coming  back  to  "  God's 
land "  had  been  too  great,  and  for  a  week  or  more  he 
paid  but  httle  heed  to  what  was  passing  around  him. 

"  Don't  you  know  me,  Jimmie  ?  It's  I, — it's  Annie,'* 
Mrs.  Graham  would  say  to  him,  as  his  restless  eyes  turn- 
ed upon  her,  and  he  would  repeat  after  her, 

"Don't  you — know — me,  Jimmie ?     It's  I, — it's  Annie." 

This  was  a  peculiarity  of  his,  and  it  continued  until 
Bill  Baker,  who  had  become  strong  enough  to  be  moved, 
came  to  AnnapoHs,  and  asked  to  see  the  "  Cop'ral." 

At  fir&t  the  physician  refused,  but  Annie  approved  the 
plan,  hoping  for  a  good  result,  and  she  waited  anxiously, 
while  Bill  said  cheerily, 

"  Hallo,  old  Cop'ral.  Eather  nicer  quarters  here  than 
that  sand-bank  down  by  that  infernal  nasty  stream." 

Bill  Baker's  voice  was  the  last  which  in  the  far-off 
prison  had  sounded  kindly  in  Jimmie's  ears,  and  Jiow  as 


884  EOSE  MATHER. 

he  heard  it  again  his  face  lighted  up,  and  his  eyes  kin- 
dled with  something  like  their  olden  fire. 

"You  know  me,  Cop'ral.  I'm"  Bill.  We've  been  ex- 
changed. We're  up  to  AnnapoHs,  and  Miss  Graam  is 
nussin'  you,"  Bill  continued,  and  then  Jimmie  drew  a 
long  breath,  and  burst  into  a  passionate  fit  of  tears. 
*'  They'll  do  him  good.  They  alius  did  to  Anderson ville. 
He'd  hold  ia  till  he  was  fit  to  burst,  and  then  he'd  let 
*em  sHde,  and  feel  better.  He'll  know  you,  ^Miss  Graam, 
after  this." 

Annie  was  called  away  just  then,  to  attend  to  another 
patient,  and  Bill  was  left  alone  with  Jimmie.  There 
were  a  few  broken  sentences  from  the  latter,  and  then 
Bill  Baker  was  heard  talking  rapidly,  but  very  gently 
and  cautiously,  and  Jimmie  lifted  his  head  once  and 
looked  across  the  room  where  Annie  was. 

"Better  leave  him  alone  a  speU,  till  he  thinks  it  out, 
and  gets  it  arranged,"  Bill  said  to  Annie.  "  I  made  him 
understand  where  he  was,  and  that  you  was  here,  and  all 
right  on  the  maia  question;  and  though  he'd  like  to  have 
bust  his  biler  for  a  minute,  he'U  come  all  straight,  I 
reckon." 

It  was  more  than  an  hour  before  Annie  went  to  Jim- 
mie agaia,  but  when  she  did,  the  eager,  joyful  look  in 
his  eyes  told  her  that  she  was  recognized. 

"  Don't  speak  to  me, — don't  talk,"  she  said,  laying  one 
hand  lightly  upon  the  hps,  which  began  to  move,  while 
with  the  other  she  smoothed  the  short  curls  of  hair. 

He  kissed  the  hand  upon  his  Hps,  and  whispered, 
through  the  fingers: 

"  TeU  me  first,  was  it  true,  he  told  me  ?    Do  you  " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  for  Annie  understood 
him,  and  bending  so  near  to  him  that  no  one  else  could 
hear,  she  said: 


THE  ANDEESONVILLE  PKISONEES.  385 

"  Yes,  Jimmie,— I  do." 

He  seemed  satisfied,  and  something  of  his  old  manner 
came  back  to  him  when,  later  in  the  day,  Annie  tried  to 
straighten  the  clothes  about  him,  and  wet  and  brushed 
his  hair. 

"  Look  like  a  hippopotamus,  don't  I  ?"  he  asked,  touch- 
ing his  thick-skinned  face. 

"Not  half  as  much  as  you  did,"  Annie  replied;  and 
the  first  smile  her  face  had  worn  for  weeks  gHmmered 
around  her  lips,  for  she  knew  now  the  danger  was  past, 
and  Jimmie  Carleton  would  live. 


CHAPTER  XXXVn. 

IN   EOCKLAND. 


I  HE  warm,  bright  November  day  was  wearing  to 
its  close.  The  purple  haze  of  the  Indian  sum- 
C5^^  mer  lay  around  the  hilltops,  and  the  soft,  golden 
sunhght  feU  softly  upon  the  grass,  and  the  few  autum- 
nal flowers  which  had  escaped  the  recent  storm.  The 
grounds  around  the  Mather  mansion  were  looking  almost 
as  beautiful  as  in  the  early  summer,  for  the  grass,  in- 
vigorated by  the  rain,  was  fresh  and  green  again,  and 
the  brilHant  foHage  of  the  trees  which  dotted  the  lawn 
made  up  for  the  loss  of  the  flowers.  Even  these  last 
were  not  lacking  indoors,  for  the  hot-house  had  been 
robbed  of  its  costhest  flowers,  which  filled  the  whole 
house  with  perfume,  and  made  Maude  De  Vere  start 
with  surprise  when  she  first  entered  the  parlors. 


386  ROSE   MATHER. 

"It  takes  me  back  to  my  Soutliern  home,"  she  said  to 
Rose,  who,  standing  on  tiptoe,  fastened  a  half-open  hly 
in  her  hair,  going  into  ecstasies  over  the  effect,  and 
thinking  to  Jierself  that  Maude  De  Vere  was  the  most 
regal  creature  she  had  ever  seen. 

Maude  had  been  in  Rockland  three  weeks,  and  Rose 
was  ah-eady  as  much  in  love  with  her  as  if  she  had  known 
her  all  her  life.  At  first,  she  had  dreaded  a  httle  to  meet 
the  fearless  heroine  of  the  mountains.  A  girl  who  had 
held  a  revolver  at  the  heads  of  both  Federal  and  Confed- 
erate ;  who,  in  the  night,  had  ridden  twenty  miles  on 
horseback  to  conduct  a  party  of  refugees  to  a  place  of 
safety,  and  had  guarded  the  entrance  of  the  cave  in  the 
face  of  a  furious  mob,  must  be  something  vei-y  formida- 
ble, or,  at  least.,  something  unlike  all  Rose's  ideas  of  what 
a  lady  gently  born  should  be ;  and  both  Rose  and  her 
mother  had  waited  nervously  for  the  arrival  of  one  who, 
they  felt  sure,  was  to  be  the  wife  of  Tom.  Nothing  de- 
finite had  been  said  upon  the  subject  since  Arthur  died, 
but  it  was  tacitly  understood  by  all  parties  that  Maude 
De  Vere  was,  sometime,  to  be  Maude  Carleton ;  and 
Tom  was  allowed  to  pay  her  attentions  which  could  only 
be  paid  to  his  fiancee. 

In  a  great  flutter  of  spirits.  Rose  had  heard  of  Maude's 
arrival  at  the  Monteur  House,  and  immediately  after  din- 
ner had  driven  down  to  see  her,  accompanied  by  Will, 
who,  if  possible,  was  more  anxious  than  herself  to  pay 
his  respects  to  Maude. 

She  was  kneehng  by  CharHe's  couch  when  the  party 
entered,  but  she  rose  at  once  and  came  forward,  with  the 
most  beautiful  carnation  staining  her  cheeks,  and  a  look 
of  modesty  in  her  brilliant  eyes.  She  wore  a  long, 
trailing  dress  of  heavy  silk,  and  stood  so  erect,  and  held 
her  head  so  high,  that  she  seemed  taller  than  she  really 


IN  ROCKLAND.  387 

was, — taller  than  Tom,  Kose  feared;  but  as  lie  stepped 
up  to  her,  she  saw  he  had  the  advantage  of  her  by  at  least 
four  inches,  and  thus  reassured,  she  drew  a  long  bre?.th 
of  relief;  then,  as  thoughts  of  all  her  husband  and  brother 
had  been  saved  from  by  this  heroic  girl,  came  over  her, 
she  sprang  toward  Maude,  and  winding  her  arms  around 
her  neck,  sobbed  hysterically,  but  never  spolie  one  word. 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  are  you  crying  for  ?"  Maude 
asked,  petting  her  as  if  she  had  been  a  little  child. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  The  sight  of  you  who  have  done 
so  much  for  the  war,  and  been  so  brave,  makes  me  seem 
so  little,  so  small,  so  mean  beside  you,  Maude  De  Vere," 
Rose  rephed,  brokenly,  and  then  Maude's  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  and  she  hugged  the  sobbing  little  creature,  whom, 
from  that  moment,  she  loved  so  fondly. 

She,  too,  had  dreaded  this  meeting,  for  she  knew  that 
Eose  Mather  and  her  mother  were  both  women  of  the 
highest  cultui-e,  and  she  felt  that  they  might  criticise, 
and  perhaps  condemn  one  who  had  lived  so  long  among 
the  pines  of  North  Carolina  and  the  mountains  of  Ten- 
nessee. But  Rose's  manner  divested  her  of  all  fear, 
and  in  a  moment  she  resumed  that  unconscious  air  of 
superiority  to  all  else  around  her,  which  was  a  part  of 
herself.  Queenly  was  the  word  which  best  suited  her 
looks  and  her  manners,  and  Rose  paid  homage  to  her  as 
to  a  queen,  and  told  her  that  she  loved  her,  and  how 
much  she  had  thought  of  her,  and  how  anxious  her 
mother  was  to  see  her,  and  how  happy  they  would  aU  be 
when  Jimmie  and  Annie  came  home. 

There  had  been  daily  visits  to  the  Monteur  since  then, 
and  Mrs.  Carleton  had  met  the  beautiful  Maude,  and 
mentally  approved  of  Tom's  choice. 

Charlie  too  had  been  petted  and  caressed,  and  his  blue 
eyes  opened  with  wonder  as  he  saw  what  Northern  wo- 


888  ROSE  MATHER. 

men  were  like,  and  remembered  his  prejudice  against 
them.  He  liked  the  Northerners,  he  said,  but  he  was 
loyal  to  the  Southern  cause,  and  listened,  with  flashing 
eyes  and  crimson  cheeks,  to  all  he  continually  heard  of 
the  sure  defeat  and  disgrace  of  the  Confederacy. 

Ma.tters  were  in  this  wise  when  the  day  came  on  which 
Annie  was  expected  home  with  Jimmie.  Great  prepara- 
tions had  been  made  for  that  an-ival.  In  Rockland 
there  was  more  than  one  prisoner  who  had  been  nursed 
by  Annie  Graham,  and  her  name  was  spoken  -mih.  rever- 
ence and  love  by  the  veriest  vagabond  that  walked  the 
streets.  They  had  not  made  a  demonstration  in  a  long, 
long  time,  but  they  were  going  to  make  one  now,  and  the 
honors  which  poor  George  saw  in  fancy  awarded  to  him- 
seK  were  to  be  given  to  his  wife.  Jimmie,  too,  whose 
terrible  sufferings  had  excited  so  much  commiseration, 
was  to  have  his  share  of  consideration.  Bill  Baker,  who 
had  been  home  for  a  week,  and  was  as  usual  the  most 
active  spii-it  of  all,  suggested  that  when  they  flung  out 
the  banner  on  which  was  inscribed,  "  Honor  and  welcome 
to  x4.nnie  Graham,"  they  should  give  three  cheers  for  IVIr. 
Carleton  too.  "  Bein',"  as  he  said,  "  that  they  are  about 
as  good  as  one." 

Prompt  to  the  moment  when  it  was  due,  the  train 
swept  round  the  Rockland  curve  and  stopped  at  the 
depot  where  a  laTge  concourse  of  people  was  gathered. 
They  had  not  expected  the  Widow  Simms,  and  when  her 
green  veil  and  straw  bonnet  appeared  on  the  platform, 
the  foremost  of  the  gToup  looked  a  little  disappointed, 
while  the  widow's  face  darkened  as  she  saw  the  waiting 
multitude,  and  guessed  why  they  were  there. 

Annie  had  appeared  by  this  time,  and  at  sight  of  her 
the  tongues  were  loosened,  and  deafening  shouts  of  wel- 
come greeted  her  on  every  side.     The  flag  bearing  her 


IN  EOCKLAKD.  389 

name  was  held  aloft,  tlie  cannon  in  the  adjoining  field 
sent  forth  its  bellowing  roar,  and  the  band  struck  up  the 
sweet  refi'ain  of  "Annie  Laurie;"  while  the  voices  of  the 
Anderson\ille  prisoners,  who  had  been  Annie's  charge, 
sang  the  last  line: 

•'  And  for  bonnie  Annie  Gh^aham  I  would  lay  me  down  and  die." 

Surely  this  was  a  coming  home  which  Annie  had  never 
looked  for,  and  with  her  face  flushed  with  excitement, 
and  her  eyes  shining  with  tears,  she  stood  in  the  midst 
of  the  shouting  throng,  gazing  wonderingly  from  one  to 
the  other,  and  reahzing  nothing  clearly,  except  the  firm 
clasp  upon  her  arm. 

It  was  Jimmie's  hand,  and  Jimmie  himself  leaned  upon 
her,  as  the  crowd  coupled  his  name  with  hers,  and  hur- 
rahed for  "  James  Carleton  and  Annie  Graham." 

"  And  the  Widder  Simms, — I  swan  if  it's  fair  to  leave 
her  out.  She  did  some  tall  nussin'  down  to  Annapolis," 
Bill  Baker  said;  and  then  the  widow  was  cheered,  and 
she  acknowledged  the  comphment  with  a  gi'im  smile, 
and  wondered  when  "  folks  would  quit  making  fools  of 
themselves,  and  if  Susan  wasn't  up  there,  somewhere,  in 
the  jam.  Of  course  she  was;  'twas  like  them  Ruggleses 
to  go  where  the  doins  was." 

And  while  she  shook  the  hand  of  her  neighbors,  she 
kept  her  eyes  on  the  watch  for  Susan,  and  felt  a  httle 
chagrined  that  she  did  not  find  her. 

Susan  was  at  home  in  the  neat  httle  house  which  John 
had  bought  with  his  caj)tain's  wages,  so  carefully  saved. 
The  same  house  it  was  at  which  Annie  Graham  had 
looked  with  longing  eyes,  in  the  commencement  of  the 
war;  and  in  the  pleasant  chamber  which  overlooked  the 
town  there  was  a  little  boy  who  had  been  in  Rockland  only 
a  week,  and  whose  existence  was  as  yet  unknown  to  the 


890  ROSE  MATHER. 

widow.  They  had  purposely  kept  it  from  her,  so  sho 
had  no  suspicion  that  he  was  expected  f  and  the  first 
genuine  feeling  of  happiness  she  had  known  since  Isaac 
died,  she  experienced  when  she  was  ushered  into  Susan's 
room,  and  the  httle  red-faced  thing  was  hiid  in  her  lap. 
She  had  looked  askance  at  the  new  house,  and  neat  furni- 
ture, and  the  pretty  cui'tains,  as  so  many  proofs  of  "  them 
Euggleses"  extravagance;  but  she  was  not  proof  against 
the  white  face  which,  from  the  pillows,  smiled  so  kindly 
upon  her,  and  called  her  mother.  And  she  was  guilty  of 
kissing  her  daughter-in-law,  even  before  she  saw  the  baby, 
her  first  grandchild,  whom  Susan  called  laaac,  although 
she  hated  the  name,  and  had  tacked  on  to  it  Adolphus, 
with  the  hope  that. the  futui'e  would  adjust  the  name 
into  Adolpli,  or  something  more  fanciful  than  the  good, 
plaiQ  Bible  Isaac.  And  while  the  widow  kissed  and 
wept  over  her  grandson,  and  felt  herself  gi'owing  young, 
and  soft,  and  gentle  again,  the  crowd  around  the  depot 
had  dispersed,  a  part  going  to  their  own  homes,  and  a 
part  following  the  soldiers  and  band  which  escorted 
Annie  Graham  and  Jimmie  Carleton  to  the  Mather 
mansion,  where  everything  had  been  made  so  beautiful 
for  them. 

It  was  a  pleasant  coming  home,  and  a  most  ample 
compensation  for  all  the  weariness  and  privation  which 
Annie,  as  hospital  nurse,  had  endured,  and  she  felt  that 
far  more  was  awarded  to  her  than  she  deserved. 

"  Ml*.  Carleton  was  the  one  to  be  honored,"  she  said, 
and  her  soft,  blue  eyes  rested  upon  the  pale,  tired  man, 
who,  exhausted  \sdth  his  joui^ney  and  the  excitement,  lay 
down  at  once  upon  the  sofa,  while  his  mother  and  Eose 
knelt  beside  him  and  kissed,  and  pitied,  and  cried  over 
his  poor  white  face,  and  long,  bony  hands,  which  were 
almost  transparent  in  their  whiteness. 


IN  ROCKLAND.  391 

Maude  was  not  one  of  tlie  party  at  tlie  Mather  man- 
sion that  night. 

"You  ought  to  be  alone  the  first  night,"  she  said, 
when  Eose  insisted  that  she  should  join  them.  "To- 
moiTow  I  wiU  come  round  and  call  on  jMi*s.  Graham  and 
your  brother." 

She  had  been  greatly  interested  in  all  the  arrange- 
ments, and  was  curious  to  see  the  woman  who  had  almost 
been  her  rival,  while  Annie  was  quite  as  curious  to  see 
her,  the  heroine  of  the  mountains.  In  her  letters  to 
Annie,  Eose  had  purposely  refrained  fi'om  mentioning 
Tom's  name  with  Maude's,  so  that  Annie  was  ignorant 
of  the  real  state  of  things.  But  she  did  not  remain  so 
long'. 

''Is  she  so  very  beautiful?"  she  said  to  Eose,  when, 
after  supper,  they  were  aU  assembled  in  the  parlor,  and 
Maude  was  the  subject  of  conversation. 

"  Ask  Tom;  he  can  tell  you,"  Eose  repHed,  and  by  the 
conscious  look  on  Tom's  face,  Annie  guessed  the  truth  at 
once. 

That  night,  when  the  two  brothers  were  alone  in  their 
room,  Tom  said  to  Jimmie : 

"  Well,  my  boy,  I've  kept  my  word, — I've  waited  a 
year  and  more.  I've  given  you  every  chance  a  reason- 
able man  could  ask.  Have  -you  made  a  proper  use  of 
your  privileges  ?  Would  it  do  me  any  good  to  try  and 
win  Annie  now  ?" 

"  You  can  try  if  you  like,"  Jimmie  said,  with  a  smile. 
And  then  Tom  told  him  of  his  hopes  concerning  Maude 
T>e  Yere,  and  Jimmie  said  to  him  saucily: 

"Don't  you  remember  I  told  you  once  you  had  had 
your  day  ?  But  some  lucky  dogs  have  two,  and  you,  it 
seems,  are  one  of  them." 


392  ROSE  MATHEB. 

CHAPTER  XXXVnX 

THE   LOVERS. 

,  ^WhE  next  day  brought  Maude  De  Vere,  looking  so 
^4J^S{  handsome  in  her  black  dress,  with  her  coquet- 
^^f  tish  drab  hat  and  long  di'ab  feather  tipped  \Yith 
scarlet,  that  she  reminded  Annie  of  some  bright  tropical 
flower  as  she  came  into  the  room  with  the  sparkle  in  her 
brilhant  eyes,  and  the  deep,  rich  bloom  upon  her  cheek. 
She  had  regained  her  health  and  spirits  rapidly  within  the 
last  few  weeks,  and  even  Jimmie,  who  seldom  saw  beyond 
Annie's  fair  face  and  soft  blue  eyes,  drew  a  breath  of  won- 
der at  the  queenly  girl  who  completely  overshadowed  those 
around  her  so  far  as  size  and  form  and  physical  develop- 
ment were  concerned.  But  nothing  could  detract  from 
the  calm,  quiet  dignity  of  Annie's  manner,  or  from  the 
pure,  angelic  beauty  of  her  face,  and  as  the  two  stood  hold- 
ing each  othe]-'s  hands  and  looking  into  each  other's  eyes, 
they  made  a  most  striking  tableau,  and  !Mrs.  Carleton 
thought,  with  a  thrill  of  pride,  how  weU  her  sons  had 
chosen. 

That  night,  as  Maude  was  walking  back  to  the  hotel 
accompanied  by  Tom,  he  asked  her  again  the  question 
put  in  the  cave  of  the  Cumberland. 

"I  understand  about  Arthur,"  he  said;  "but  he  is 
dead;  there  is  no  promise  now  in  the  way.  I  claim  you 
for  my  own.     Am  I  wrong  in  doing  so  ?" 

That  Maude's  rej)ly  was  wholly  satisfactory  was  proved 
by  the  expression  of  Tom  Carleton's  face  when  at  last  he 
stopped  at  the  door  of  the  hotel,  and  by  the  kiss  which 


THE  LOYEKS.  893 

burned  on  Maude's  lips  long  after  lie  had  disappeared 
down  the  street. 

The  next  afternoon,  while  Tom  was  with  Maude,  and 
both  Mrs.  Carleton  and  Eose  were  out  on  a  shopping 
expedition,  Annie  sat  alone  with  Jimmie  in  the  pleasant 
Httle  room  which  had  been  given  to  him  as  a  place  where 
he  would  be  more  quiet  than  in  the  parlor.  Annie  had 
been  playing  with  Kose's  boy, — the  httle  Jimmie,  a  hand- 
some, sturdy  fellow  of  nearly  a  year  old,  whom  the  en- 
tire household  spoiled.*  He  was  already  beginning  to 
talk,  and  having  taken  a  fancy  to  Annie,  he  tried  to  call 
her  name,  and  made  out  of  it  a  tolerably  distinct  "  Auntee," 
which  brought  a  blush  to  Annie's  face,  and  a  teasing 
smile  to  Jimmie's. 

"  Come,  sit  by  me  a  moment,  Annie,"  Jimmie  said, 
when  the  child  had  been  taken  out  by  his  nurse.  "  Sit 
on  this  stool,  so, — a  little  nearer  to  me, — there,  that's 
right,"  he  continued,  in  the  tone  of  authority  he  had  un- 
consciously acquii-ed  since  his  convalescence. 

He  was  lying  upon  the  couch,  and  Annie  was  sitting  at 
his  side  and  so  near  to  him  that  his  long  fingers  could 
smooth  and  caress  her  shining  hair,  while  his  saucy  eyes 
feasted  themselves  upon  her  face,  as  he  asked  "when  she 
would  really  be  the  auntie  of  the  httle  boy  who  called 
her  now  by  that  name." 

"  Not  till  you  are  able  to  stand  alone,"  was  Annie's  re- 
ply, and  then,  for  the  first  time  since  his  return  from  An- 
dersonville,  Jimmie  spoke  of  that  episode  in  his  hfe  at 
New  London,  when  Httle  Luiu  Howard  had  stirred  his 
boyish  blood,  and  filled  his  boyish  fancy. 

** Perhaps  he  wanted  to  tease  Annie,  for  he  said  to  her: 

"I  did  like  that  httle  blue-eyed  Lu, — that's  a  fact. 
I  used  to  think  about  her  all  day,  and  dream  about  hei 
ail  night.     I  wonder  where  she  is  now." 


394  ROSE    MATHER. 

"  ^Miat  would  you  do  if  you  knew  ?"  Annie  asked,  and 
Jimmie  replied: 

"  I  believe  I  would  go  miles  to  see  her,  just  to  kuow 
what  kind  of  a  woman  she  has  developed  into.  I  trust 
she  is  not  hke  her  aunt.  I  could  not  endure  her.  She 
struck  me  as  a  hard,  selfish,  ambitious  woman,  terribly 
afraid  lest  the  world  generally  should  not  think  Mrs. 
Scott  Belknap  all  which  ]\Irs.  Scott  Belknap  thought  her- 
self to  be." 

Annie's  cheeks  were  very  red  by  this  time,  and  imput- 
ing her  heightened  color  to  a  cause  widely  different  from 
the  real  one,  Jimmie  drew  her  face  down  to  his,  and  kiss- 
ing the  burning  cheeks,  said: 

"  Of  course  I  should  take  you  with  me,  when  I  went 
after  little  Lu." 

"  You  would  hardly  find  her  if  you  did  not,"  Annie 
said,  while  Jimmie  looked  inquiringly  at  her. 

Annie  had  onty  been  waiting  for  Jimmie  to  speak  of 
the  Httle  Pequot,  before  making  her  own  confession,  and 
she  now  said  to  him  abruptly  : 

"  Did  Lulu  look  any  like  me  ?" 

"Why,  yes.  I've  always  thought  so,  only  she  was 
younger,  and  had  short  hair,  you  know,  and  short 
dresses,  too.  Annie,  Annie,  tell  me, — was  she, — do  you, 
— are  you  " —  Jimmie  began,  raising  himself  upright  upon 
the  couch,  as  something  in  Annie's  expression  began  to 
puzzle  and  mystify  him. 

"  Am  I  what  ?"  Annie  asked.  "  Am  I  Httle  Lulu  of 
the  Pequot  House  ?  My  name  was  Annie  Louise  Howard 
before  I  married  George.  My  aunt  called  me  Louise. 
You  never  inquired  my  maiden  name,  I  beheve.  I  sup- 
jDose  you  thought  I  had  always  been  a  married  woman, 
but  I  was  a  girl  of  fourteen  once,  and  went  with  my 
Aunt  Belknap  to  New  London,  and  met  a  boy  who  called 


THE  LOVERS.  895 

himself  Dick  Lee,  and  wlio  was  so  kind  to  the  orphan  girl, 
that  she  began  to  think  of  him  all  day,  and  watch  for  hia 
coming  after  his  school  hours.  He  was  a  saucy,  teasing 
boy,  but  Lulu  liked  him,  and  when  one  day  she  waited 
for  his  promised  coming  till  it  grew  dark  upon  the 
beach,  and  the  great  hotel  was  hghted  up  for  the  evening 
festivity,  and  when  other  days  and  nights  passed,  and  he 
neither  came  nor  sent  her  any  word,  and  she  heard  at 
last  from  one  of  his  comrades  that  he  had  gone  home  to 
Boston, — I  say,  when  all  this  came  about  she  began  to 
think  that  she  had  loved  the  boy  who  deceived  her  so,  for 
he  did  deceive  her  in  more  points  than  one,  as  she  after- 
ward leai'ned.     His  name  was  not  Dick  Lee  " 

"  But,  Annie,"  Jimmie  began,  and  Annie  stopped  him, 
saying: 

"  Wait,  Jimmie,  till  I  am-  through.  This  is  my  hour 
now.  I  have  delayed  telling  you  all  this,  for  various 
reasons.  Your  mother  knew  who  I  was  before  I  went 
to  Washington,  and  she  excused  you  as  far  as  was  possi- 
ble. That  I  have  promised  to  be  your  wife  is  proof  that 
I  have  forgiven  the  pangs  of  disappointment  I  endured  ; 
for,  Jimmie,  I  did  suffer  for  a  time.  There  was  so  httle 
in  the  world  to  make  me  happy,  and  you  had  been  so 
kind,  that  I  fully  beheved  in  and  trusted  you;  and  when 
I  found  I  was  deceived,  my  heart  ached  as  hard,  perhaps, 
as  the  heart  of  a  girl  of  fourteen  can  ache  from  such  a 
cause." 

"Poor  Annie!  poor  little  Lulu!"  Jimmie  said,  as  he 
clasped  one  of  Annie's  hands  in  his  own,  and  his  voice 
expressed  all  the  sorrow  and  tenderness  he  felt  for  Annie, 
who  continued: 

"  Such  childish  loves  are  usually  short-lived,  you  know, 
but  mine  was  the  first  pleasant  dream  I  had  known  sinca 
my  parents  died,  and  I  went  to  my  Aunt  Belknap,  in  New 


396  EOSE   MATHER 

Haven.  Slie  meant  to  be  kind,  I  suppose,  and  in  a  cer- 
tain way  she  was.  She  gave  me  a  good  education,  and 
every  advantage  within  her  means.  She  took  me  to 
Newport  and  Saratoga,  and  the  New  York  hotels,  and 
she  turned  her  back  on  George  Graham,  whom  we  met 
at  Long  Branch,  where  he  was  making  some  repairs  upon 
an  engine.  A  mechanic  was  not  her  idea  of  a  husband 
for  her  niece.  She  preferred  that  I  should  marry  a  man 
of  sixty,  who  had  already  the  portraits  of  three  wives  in 
his  handsome  house  at  Meriden;  but  then,  for  each  por- 
trait he  counted  over  two  hundred  thousand  dollars,  and 
half  a  milhon  covers  a  multitude  of  defects  and  a 
great  many  wives.  I  would  not  marry  that  man,  and  as 
the  result  of  my  persistent  refusal,  my  hfe  -^ith  my  aunt 
became  so  unbearable  that,  when  Providence  again  threw 
George  in  my  way,  and  he  asked  me  to  be  his  wife,  I 
consented,  and  I  never  regTetted  the  step.  He  was  very 
kind  to  me,  and  I  loved  him  so  much,  that  when  he  died, 
I  thought  my  heart  died  too,  for  he  was  my  all." 

Annie  was  very  beautiful  in  her  excitement  as  she 
paid  this  tribute  to  her  deceased  husband,  and  Jimmie 
saw  that  she  was  beautiful,  but  felt  relieved  when  she  left 
George  Graham,  and  spoke  of  Eose,  who  had  come  to 
her  like  an  angel  of  light,  and  made  the  burden  easier  to 
bear. 

"  I  had  no  suspicion  that  she  was  the  soi-disant  Dick 
Lee's  sister,  or  that  my  boy-hero  was  not  Dick  Lee,  un- 
til just  before  you  came  home  for  the  fii'st  time,  and  then 
I  thought  I  must  go  away,  for  I  did  not  care  to  meet 
you.  But  Rose  prevented  me,  and  I  am  glad  now  that 
she  did." 

"  And  I  am  glad,  too,"  Jimmie  said.  "  Your  staying 
has  been  the  means  of  untold  good  to  me,  darling, — it 
was  the  memory  of  your  sweet,  holy  hfe  and  character 


CHAKUE.  397 

■which  led  me,  a  wretch  at  Andersonville,  to  seek  the 
Saviour  whom  you  have  loved  so  long.  God  has  led  us 
both  in  strange  paths.  We  have  suffered  a  great  deal, — ■ 
you  mentally,  I  physically,  and  only  what  I  deserved;  but 
let  us  hojDe  that  the  night  is  passed,  and  the  morning  of 
our  happy  future  dawning  upon  us.  We  are  both  young 
yet, — you  twenty-three,  and  I  only  twenty-six.  We  have 
a  long  Hfe  to  look  forward  to,  and  I  thank  God  for  it ; 
but  most  of  all,  I  thank  Him  for  giving  me  my  darhng 
Annie, — my  dear  httle  Lulu !  Does  Eose  know  that  you 
are  Lulu  ?" 

IMrs.  Carleton  had  thought  it  better  not  to  add  to 
Eose's  excitement  by  telling  her  who  Annie .  was,  while 
Jimmie's  fate  was  shrouded  in  so  much  gloom;  then, 
after  his  return,  she  decided  that  Annie  should  have  the 
satisfaction  of  teUing  herself,  and  thus  Eose  was  still  in 
ignorance  with  regard  to  Annie's  identity  with  the  Pe- 
quot.  But  Annie  told  her  that  night,  and  Eose's  eyes 
were  Hke  stars,  as  she  smothered  Annie  with  kisses,  and 
declared  it  was  all  like  some  strange  story  she  had  read. 


CHAPTEE  XXXrS: 

CHAELIE. 

E  did  not  improve  as  his  sister  and  uncle  hoped 
y-  he  might  ;  and  as  the  cold  weather  increased, 
they  began  to  talk  of  taking  him  to  a  warmer 
chmate,  but  Charlie  said: 

"  I  am  as  well  here  as  I  could  be  anywhere.     I  don't 
want  to  be  moved  about.     Let  me  stay  here  in  quiet." 
So  they  made  him  as  comfortable  as  possible  at  the 


398  ROSE  MATHER. 

hotel,  and  Rose  and  Annie  came  every  day  to  see  him ; 
and  he  learned  to  watch  and  listen  for  their  coming, 
especially  that  of  Annie,  to  whom  he  took  the  kindhest. 
She  knew  just  how  to  nurse  him,  and  as  she  once  cared 
for  the  poor  prisoners,  so  she  now  cared  for  the  Southern 
boy,  who,  while  aclinowledging  the  kindness  of  the 
Northern  people,  was  still  as  thorough  a  Secessionist  as 
he  had  ever  been.  Anxiously  he  waited  for  daily  news  of 
the  progress  of  Grant's  army,  refusing  to  beHeve  that 
Lee  was  so  closely  shut  up  in  Eichmond  that  escape  was 
impossible.  Blindly,  hke  many  of  his  older  brethren,  he 
clung  to  the  hope,  that  underlying  the  whole  was  some 
hidden  motive  which  would  in  time  appear  and  work 
good  to  his  cause.  Maude  never  opposed  or  disputed 
with  him  now,  but  read  him  every  httle  item  of  good  for 
the  South.  But  when,  in  the  spring,  the  fighting  at  Pe- 
tersburg commenced,  there  were  no  such  items  to  read, 
and  Charlie  asked  no  longer  for  news.  Then  there  came  a 
never-to-be-forgotten  day,  when  through  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  land,  the  glad  tidings  ran  that  Eichmond 
had  fallen;  that  Lee  with  his  army  was  fl}ing  fi'om  the  city, 
with  Grant  in  hot  pui'suit.  The  war  was  vii'tually  over; 
and  from  Maine  to  Oregon  the  air  was  filled  with  the 
jubilant  notes  of  victory.  For  three  long  hours  the  bells 
of  Rockland  rang  out  their  merry  peals,  and  at  night 
they  kindled  bonfii'es  in  the  streets;  and  on  the  grass- 
plat  by  the  well  in  Widow  Simms'  yard,  they  burned 
the  box,  which,  four  years  before,  poor  Isaac  had  put 
away  for  just  such  an  occasion  as  this. 

All  the  morning  of  that  memorable  Monday,  while  the 
bells  were  ringing,  and  the  crowds  were  shouting  in  the 
streets,  Charhe  De  Vere  had  lain  with  his  white  face  to 
the  wall,  and  his  lips  quivering  with  the  grief  and  morti- 
fication he  felt,  that  it  should  have   ended  thus.     Oc- 


CHAKLIE.  399 

casionally,  as  the  slioiits  grew  louder,  lie  stopped  Ms 
ears,  so  as  to  shut  out  what  seemed  to  him  like  exulta- 
tions over  the  death  of  so  many  hopes;  but  when  Annie 
came  in,  and  told  Maude  of  the  bonfire  they  were  to  have 
that  night  in  jMrs.  Simms'  yard,  and  asked  her  to  come 
for  the  sake  of  the  boy  whose  box  was  to  be  burned, 
Charhe  began  to  hsten.  And  as  he  listened,  he  grew 
interested  in  Isaac  Simms  and  the  grass-jDlat  by  the 
well,  and  the  box  hidden  in  the  barn,  and  he  expressed  a 
wish  to  be  present  when  it  was  burned.  Maude,  too,  had 
heard  of  Isaac  Simms  before.  She  knew  that  he  had  been 
captured  by  Arthur  Tunbridge,  but  she  did  not  know  the 
particulars  of  his  prison  life,  or  how  generously  Tom  had 
sacrificed  his  chance  of  Hberty  for  the  sake  of  the  poor, 
sick  boy,  until  Annie  told  the  story,  to  which  she  lis- 
tened with  swimming  eyes  and  a  heart  throbbing  with 
love  and  respect  for  her  lover,  who  had  been  so  noble 
and  unselfish.  She  would  go  to  the  bonfire  on  the 
gTass-plat,  she  said;  and  Charhe  should  go  too.  He  had 
wept  passionately  at  the  recital  of  Isaac's  sufferings  in 
Libby,  but  stiU  found  some  excuse  for  the  South  gen- 
erally. 

"  It  was  not  the  better  class  of  people,"  he  said,  "  who 
did  these  things;  it  was  the  lower,  ignorant  ones,,  whose 
instincts  were  naturally  brutal." 

And  neither  Maude  nor  Annie  contradicted  him, 
though  the  eyes  of  the  former  flashed  indignantly,  and 
her  nostrils  quivered  as  they  always  did  when  the  suffer- 
ings of  our  prisoners  were  mentioned  in  her  presence. 

That  night,  when  the  stars  came  out  over  Kockland, 
a  party  of  twelve  or  more  was  congTegated  at  the  house 
of  the  widow  Simms,  where,  but  for  the  sad  memory  of 
Isaac,  whose  soldier-coat  hung  on  the  wall,  with  the  knap- 
sack carried  into  battle,  all  would  have  been  joy  and  hi- 


400  ROSE   MATHER. 

larity  at  the  prospect  of  certain  peace.  But  death  had 
been  in  that  household,  just  as  it  had  crept  across  many 
and  many  another  threshold;  and  mingled  with  the  re- 
joicings were  tears  and  sad  regrets  for  the  dead  of  our 
land,  whose  graves  were  everywhere,  fi'om  the  shadowy 
forests  of  Maine,  and  the  vast  prairies  of  the  West,  to  the 
sunny  -plains  of  the  South,  where  they  fought  and  died. 
There  were  twenty-five  buried  in  the  Rockland  grave- 
yard; and  others  than  the  party  assembled  at  Mrs. 
Simms,  thought  of  the  vacant  chairs  at  home,  and  the 
sleeping  dead  whose  ears  were  deaf  to  the  notes  of  peace 
floating  so  musically  over  the  land.  Charlie's  face  was 
very  white,  and  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes  as  he  laid  his 
thin,  white  hands  reverently  upon  the  box,  examining  its 
make,  and  bending  close  to  the  name,  and  date,  and 
words  cut  upon  it. — "  Isaac  Simms,  Rockland,  April  25th, 

1861.     This,  box  to  be  burned "  There  was  a  blank 

which  the  boy,  who  had  cut  the  words  with  his  jack-knife, 
could  not  supply.  He  did  not  know  when  the  box  would 
be  burned.  Then  it  was  April,  1861;  now  it  was  April, 
1865.  Four  years  of  strife  and  bloodshed,  thousands  and 
thousands  of  desolate  hearth-stones,  and  broken  hearts, 
and  lifeless  forms  both  North  and  South,  and  the  end 
had  come  at  last.  But  the  boy  Isaac  was  not  there  to  see 
it.  It  was  not  for  him  to  fill  up  that  blank  ;  but  for  the 
Southern  boy,  Charlie  De  Vere,  who  took  his  pencil  fi-om 
his  pocket,  and  wrote,  "April  3d,  1865,  to  celebrate  the  fall 
of  Richmond,  and  the  end  of  the  Confederacy.  Charles 
De  Vere." 

"  Who  shall  Hght  the  pile  ?"  Tom  asked,  when  aU  was 
ready.  And  ChatHe  answered,  "  Let  me,  please.  Surely  I 
may  light  the  fire  !" 

And  he  did  hght  it,  and  then,  with  the  rest,  looked  on 
while  the  smoke  and  the  flames  curled  up  toward  the 


CHARLIE.  401 

starry  heavens  where  the  boy  Isaac  had  gone,  and  where 
Charlie  in  his  dreams  that  night  saw  him  so  distinctly, 
and  grasped  his  Mendly  hand. 

After  that  night,  Charlie  failed  rapidly,  and  often  in 
his  sleep,  he  talked  to  some  one  who  seemed  to  be  Ar- 
thur, and  said  it  was  "  a  mistake,'  a  dreadful  mistake." 
At  last,  as  Maude  sat  by  him  one  day,  the  fifth  after  the 
bonfire  on  the  grass-plat,  he  said  to  her  suddenly: 

"  Maude,  if  a  man  kills  another  and  didn't  mean  to,  is 
it  murder?" 

"No,  it  is  manslaughter.  Why  do  you  ask?"  Maude 
said;  and  Charlie  continued: 

"Don't  hate  me,  Maude,  nor  tell  any  body,  for  /killed 
Arthur,  myself.  I  shot  him  right  through  the  head, 
and — Maude,  he  thought  it  was  you  /" 

"Oh !  Charhe !  Charhe !"  and  Maude  shrieked  aloud  as 
she  bent  over  her  brother,  who  continued: 

"Not  when  he  died,  but  at  first,  when  he  lay  there  on 
the  grass,  moaning  and  looking  at  you  so  sorry  and 
grieved  like,  don't  you  remember  ?" 

"Yes!"  Maude  gasped;  and  Charlie  went  on: 

"  You  know  that  one  of  the  ruffians  fired  at  Captain 
Carleton  and  hit  you,  and  then  I  could  not  help  paying 
him  back.  He  was  taller  than  Arthur,  who  stood  behind 
him,  and  knocked  him  down  in  time  to  take  the  ball  him- 
self. He  knew  you  had  a  revolver,  and  he  thought  it 
was  you,  though  an  accident,  of  course,  and  it  made  him 
so  sorry  that  you  should  be  the  one  to  kill  him.  But  I 
told  him  difi'erent;  when  I  whispered  to  him,  you  know. 
I  said  it  was  I,  and  his  eyes  put  on  such  a  happy  look. 
I  know  he  forgave  me,  for  he  said  so ;  but  my  heart  has 
ached  ever  since  with  thinking  about  it.  I  could  not  for- 
get it;  and  I've  asked  God  to  forgive  me  so  many  times. 
I  think  he  has;  and  that  when  I  die,  I  shall  go  where 


402  ROSE  MATHEK. 

Isaac  Simms  has  gone.  I  like  liim,  Maude,  if  lie  was  a 
Yankee,  and  fought  against  us;  and  I  like  Mrs.  Graham 
so  much;  and  Mr.  James  Carleton,  and  the  Mathers,  and 
Mrs.  Simms,  some;  but  I  can't  hke  that  dreadful  BiU  Ba- 
ker, with  his  slang  words  and  vulgar  ways;  he  makes  me 
so  sick,  and  I  feel  so  ashamed  that  we  should  be  beaten 
by  such  as  he." 

"  You  were  not  beaten  by  such  as  he  !  You  are  mis- 
taken, Charlie!  The  Northern  army  was  composed  of 
many  of  the  noblest  men  in  the  world.  There  are  Bill 
Bakers  everywhere,  as  many  South  as  North.  It  is  fool- 
ish to  thiak  otherwise." 

Maude  was  growing  hot  and  eloquent  in  her  defense 
of  the  Northern  army,  but  Charlie's  gentle,  low-spoken 
reply,  stopped  her : 

"  Perhaps  it  is.  I  got  terribly  perplexed  thinking  it 
all  over,  and  how  it  has  turned  out.  I  think — yes,  I 
know  I  am  glad  the  negroes  are  free.  We  never  abused 
them.  Uncle  Paul  never  abused  them.  But  there  were 
those  who  did;  and  if  slavery  is  a  Divine  institution,  as 
we  are  taught  to  believe,  it  was  a  broken  down  and 
badly  conducted  institution,  and  not  at  aU  as  God  meant 
it  to  be  managed." 

Charlie  paused  a  moment,  and  when  he  spoke  again, 
it  was  of  Tow,'  who  had  been  so  kind  to  him. 

"  He  is  hke  a  brother  to  me,  Maude,  and  I  am  glad  you 
are  to  be  his  wife.  And  Maude,  don't  wait  after  I  am 
dead,  but  marry  Captain  Carleton  at  olnce.  You  will  be 
happier  then." 

With  tears  and  kisses  Maude  bent  over  her  brother, 
who  after  that  confession  seemed  so  much  brighter 
and  more  cheerful,  that  hope  sometimes  whispered  to 
Maude  that  he  would  hve.  Annie  was  almost  constantly 
with  him  now.     He  felt  better  and  stronger  with  her,  ha 


CHARLIE.  403 

said,  and  death  was  not  so  terrible.  So,  just  as  she  liad 
soothed,  and  comforted,  and  nursed  many  a  poor  fellow 
from  Andersonville,  Annie  comforted  and  nursed  Charlie 
De  Vere,  unth  that  dreadful  Saturday  when  the  tele- 
gTaphic  wires  brought  up  from  the  South  the  appalling 
news  that  our  President  was  dead, — murdered  by  the 
assassin's  hand. 

"No,  no,  not  that.  We  did  not  do  that,"  Charlie 
cried,  with  a  look  of  horror  in  his  blue  eyes  when  he 
heard  the  dreadful  story,  and  that  the  Southern  leaders 
were  suspected  of  comphcity  in  the  murder. 

"  It  would  make  me  a  Unionist,  if  I  beheved  my  peo- 
ple capable  of  that;  but  they  are  not, — it  cannot  be," 
Charlie  kept  repeating  to  himself,  while  the  gi^eat  drops 
of  sweat  stood  upon  his  white  forehead,  and  his  pulse 
and  heart  beat  so  rapidly,  that  Maude  summoned  the  at- 
tending physician,  who  shook  his  head  doubtfully  at  the 
great  change  for  the  worse  in  his  patient. 

"  I  had  hoped  at  least  to  keep  him  till  the  warm  weath- 
er, but,  I  am  afi^aid  those  bells  will  be  the  death  of  him," 
he  said,  as  he  saw  how  Charlie  shivered  and  moaned  with 
each  sound  of  the  toUing  bells. 

"Perhaps  they  would  stop  if  you  were  to  ask  them, 
and  tell  them  why,"  Annie*  suggested  to  Maude;  but 
Charhe,  who  heard  it,  exclaimed, 

"  No,  let  them  toll  on.  It  is  proper  they  should  mourn 
for  him.  The  South  would  do  the  same  if  it  was  our 
President  who  had  been  murdered." 

So  the  bells  tolled  on,  and  the  public  buildings  were 
draped  in  mourning,  and  the  windows  of  Charlie's  room 
were  festooned  with  black,  and  he  watched  the  sombre 
drapery  as  it  swayed  in  the  April  wind,  and  talked  of  the 
terrible  deed,  and  the  war  which  was  ended,  and  the 
world  to  which  so  many  thousands  had  gone  during  the 
long  four  years  of  strife  and  bloodshed. 


404  ROSE  MATHER. 

"  I  shall  be  there  to-morrow,"  he  said,  "  and  then  per- 
haps I  shall  know  why  all  this  has  been  done,  and  if  we 
were  so  wrong." 

Maude  and  Annie,  Paul  Havenll  and  Tom  Carleton 
watched  with  him  through  the  night,  and  just  as  the 
beautiful  Easter  morning  broke,  and  the  sunhght  fell 
upon  the  Rockland  hills,  the  boy  who  to  the  last  had  re- 
mained true  to  the  Southern  cause,  lay  dead  among  the 
peoi^le  who  had  been  his  foes. 

At  Maude's  request  they  buried  him  by  the  side  of 
Isaac  Simms,  and  Capt.  Carleton  ordered  a  handsome 
monument,  on  which  the  names  of  both  the  boys  were  cut, 
Isaac  Simms,  who  had  died  for  the  North,  and  CharHe 
De  Vere,  who,  if  need  be,  would  have  given  his  life  for 
the  South,  each  holding  entirely  different  political  senti- 
ments, but  both  holding  the  same  living  faith  which 
made  for  them  an  entrance  to  the  world  where  all  is  per- 
fect peace,  and  where  we  who  now  see  through  a  glass 
darkly  shall  then  see  face  to  face,  and  know  why  these 
things  are  so. 


Six  months  had  passed  since  Charlie  De  Vere  died. 
Paul  Haverill,  Will  Mather,  and  Captain  Carleton  had 
been  together  on  a  pilgrimage  to  Paul's  old  neighbor- 
hood, where  the  people,  wiser  growTi,  welcomed  back 
their  old  friend  and  neighbor,  and  strove  in  various  ways 
to  *atone  for  all  which  had  been  cruel  and  harsh  in  their 
foiTQer  dealing  toward  him.  The  war  had  left  them 
destitute,  so  far  as  negroes  and  money  were  concerned; 
but  such  as  they  had  they  freely  offered  Paul,  entreating 
him  to  stay  in  their  midst  and  rebuild  the  homestead, 
whose  blackened  ruins  bore  testimony  to  what  men's 
passions  will  lead  them  to  do  when  roused  and  uncon- 


CHAKUE.  405 

trilled.  But  Paul  said  no;  lie  could  never  again  live 
where  there  was  so  much  to  remind  him  of  the  past.  A 
httle  way  out  of  Nashville  was  a  beautiful  dwelling-house, 
which,  with  a  few  acres  of  highly  cultivated  land,  was 
offered  for  sale. 

Maude  had  spoken  of  the  place  when  she  was  in  the 
city,  and  had  said: 

"I  should  hke  to  live  there." 

And  Tom  had  remembered  it;  and  when  he  found  it 
for  sale,  he  suggested  to  Mr.  Haverill  that  they  buy  it  as 
a  winter  residence  for  Maude.  And  so  what  little 
property  Paul  Haverill  had  left  was  invested  in  Fair  OakSj 
as  the  place  was  called;  and  Tom  gave  orders  that  the 
house  should  be  refurnished  and  ready  for  himseK  and 
bride  as  early  as  the  first  of  November. 

As  far  as  was  possible,  "Will  and  Tom  found  and  gener- 
ously rewarded  those  who  had  so  kindly  befriended  them 
in  their  perilous  journey  across  the  mountains. 

But  some  were  missing,  and  only  their  gi'aves  remained 
to  tell  the  story  of  their  wrongs. 

This  trip  was  made  in  June,  and  early  in  August,  the 
whole  Carleton  family  went  to  New  London,  where 
Jimmie  improved  so  fast  that  few  would  have  recognized 
the  pale,  thin  invalid,  of  Andersonville  notoriety,  in  the 
active,  red-cheeked,  saucy-eyed  young  man,  who  became 
the  life  of  the  Pequot  House,  and  for  whom  the  gay  belles 
practiced  their  most  bev.itching  coquetries. 

But  these  were  all  lost  on  Jimmie,  who  was  selclom 
many  minutes  away  from  the  fair,  blue-eyed  woman, 
who,  the  girls  had  learned,  was  a  widow,  and  of  whom 
they  at  first  had  no  fears.  But  they  changed  their  minds 
when  day  alter  day  saw  the  "handsome  Carleton"  at 
her  side,  and  night  after  night  found  him  walking  with 
her  along  the  road,  or  sitting  on  the  rocks  and  watching 


406  EOSE   MATHER. 

the  tide  come  in,  just  as  he  had  done  years  ago,  when 
both  were  younger  than  they  were  now.  They  lived 
those  days  over  again,  and,  in  their  pci-fect  happiness, 
almost  forgot  the  sorrow  and  pain  which  had  come  to 
them  both  since  they  first  looked  out  upon  the  waters  of 
Kew  London  bay. 

Tom  and  Maude  were  there,  too,  together  with  Rose 
Mather  and  Will,  and  Susan  Simms  and  John. 

A  well-timed  investment  in  oil  stock, — a  lucky  turn  of 
the  wheel, — and  Captain  John  Simms  awoke,  one  morn- 
ing, with  one  hundred  thousands  dollars !  He  did  not 
believe  it  at  first,  and  Susan  did  not  believe  it  either. 
But  when  John,  who,  with  all  his  good  sense,  was  a  little 
given  to  show,  or,  as  his  mother  expressed  it,  "  to  mak- 
ing a  fool  of  himself,"  brought  her  a  set  of  diamonds, 
handsomer  than  Rose  Mather's,  and  bought  her  a  new 
carriage,  and  took  her  to  Saratoga,  with  an  Enghsh 
nurse  for  Uttle  Ike,  she  began  to  realize  that  something 
had  hapiDened  to  her  which  brought  Rose  Mather's  envied 
style  of  living  within  her  means. 

She  soon  grew  tired  of  Saratoga.  She  was  too  much 
alone  in  that  great  crowd,  and  when  she  heard  that  the 
Carletons  were  at  New  London  she  went  there  with  her 
diamonds  and  horses,  and,  patronized  by  Rose,  who 
took  her  at  once  under  her  protection,  she  made  a  few 
pleasant  acquaintances,  and  ever  after  talked  confi- 
dently of  her  "summer  at  the  sea-side."  She  did  not 
car 4  to  go  again,  however.  "  She  and  John  were  not 
exactly  like  people  bom  to  high  life,"  she  said,  and  so 
she  settled  quietly  down  in  her  pretty  home,  and  made, 
as  the  Widow  Simms  said,  "quite  a  decent  woman,  con- 
siderin'  that  she  was  one  of  them  Ruggleses." 


Bill  Baker  was   astir  very  early  one   bright,  October 
morning,  his  face  indicating  that  some  important  event 


CHARLIE.  407 

was  pending  in  tvMcIi  lie  was  to  act  a  part.  It  was  a 
double  wedding  at  St.  Luke's,  and  Maude  and  Annie  were 
the  brides.  There  was  a  gi'eat  crowd  to  witness  the  cer- 
emony, and  Annie's  "  boys  "  whom  she  had  nursed  at  An- 
napolis, were  the  first  to  offer  their  congratulations  to  ^Irs. 
James  Carleton,  who  looked  so  fair  and  pure  and  lovely, 
while  Maude,  whose  beauty  was  of  a  more  briUiant  order, 
seemed  to  sparkle  and  flash  as  she  bent  her  stately  head 
in  response  to  the  greetings  given  to  her. 

Upon  Bill,  who  had  turned  hack-di'iver,  devolved  the 
honor  of  taking  the  bridal  party  to  and  from  the  church, 
and  his  horses  were  covered  with  the  Federal  flag,  while 
conspicuous  in  his  button-h'i'le  was  a  small  one  made  of 
white  silk  and  presented  to  him  by  a  girl  whom  he  called 
"Em,"  and  who  blushed  every  time  she  heard  Bill's 
voice  ordering  the  crowd  to  stand  back  and  his  horses 
to  "  show  their  oats,"  as  he  drove  from  the  church  with 
the  newly-married  people. 

Their  destination  was  Nashville,  where,  in  Maude's 
beautiful  home,  Jimmie  and  Annie  passed  a  few  dehght- 
ful  weeks,  and  then  returned  to  Boston  to  the  old  Carle- 
ton  house  on  Beacon  Street,  which  had  been  fitted  up  for 
their  reception. 

Mrs.  Carleton,  senior,  divides  her  time  between  her 
three  childrem,  Tom,  Jimmie  and  Eose,  but  her  home 
proper  is  with  Annie,  in  Boston,  where  there  is  now  a 
little  "Lulu  Graham,"  six  months  old,  and  where  Eose 
and  Will  often  go,  while  each  summer  Tom  Carleton 
comes  up  from  Fair  Oaks  with  his  beautiful  Maude,  the 
heroine  of  the  Cumberland  Mountains. 

THE  END. 


« 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilmer 
580 


